THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC 
 SOCIETIES 
 
 PRl+Oi+5 
 . A85 
 m6 
 
THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 LIBRARY 
 
 PRESENTED BY THE 
 WILLIAM A. WHITAKER 
 FOUNDATION 
 
UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
 00007860120 
 
 MOTHER BUNCH. 
 

Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2019 with funding from 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 https://archive.org/details/motherbunchstory00aust_0 
 
PAGE 51. 
 
MOTHER BUNCH. 
 
 A STORY FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. 
 
 IJV 
 
 STELLA AUSTIN, 
 
 AUTHOR OF “STUMPS,” “SOMEBODY,” “ RAGS AND TATTERS,” 
 
 “PAT,” ETC. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 J. MASTERS AND CO., 78, NEW BOND STREET. 
 
 MDCCCLXXXV. 
 
LONDON I 
 
 PRINTED BY J. MASTERS AND CO., 
 ALBION BUILDINGS, BARTHOLOMEW CLOSE, E.C. 
 
TO 
 
 GWENDOLEN AND MARJORIE, 
 
 WITH MUCH LOVE, 
 
 AND REMEMBERING THEIR LOVE, 
 
 I DEDICATE THE STORY 
 
 OF 
 
 .plotter Bund) 
 
PREFA CE. 
 
 LONG time ago I was asked to write a story 
 
 which would “ bring Heaven nearer.” In 
 the character of “ Mother Bunch” I have kept this 
 aim before me, but I do not know if I have suc¬ 
 ceeded, as realisations—at least mine—fall very 
 short of ideals. If this should meet the eye of 
 some pleasant travelling companions of two years 
 ago I must apologise for any shortcomings in the 
 description of “ Pat,” and say that I have tried my 
 best to do justice to his beauty and general be¬ 
 witchingness. I found him charming in spite of 
 his restlessness. 
 
 As this is the first preface I have written to any 
 
Preface. 
 
 • • • 
 vm 
 
 of my stories, I take the opportunity of thanking 
 my readers and critics for the kind treatment I 
 have received at their hands. I have had much 
 praise, little or no blame ; thanks to the kindliness 
 which has been so ready to encourage all that 
 could be encouraged and to overlook the faults, 
 of whose existence I am fully conscious. From 
 friends one might expect as much, but from the 
 unknown public, from which the majority of my 
 readers are taken, I have always felt I have re¬ 
 ceived much encouragement, and for this I thank 
 them. Printed words can never be recalled, and 
 it is a great responsibility to send even children’s 
 books out into the world. I only hope that no¬ 
 thing I have written has ever, or can ever, do harm 
 or give pain to any human being. And for the 
 rest, for all the good there may be in my books, I 
 give thanks to God, by Whom the gift was given 
 to me. 
 
 Brighton, 1884. 
 
CONTENTS . 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 f^umfrap fiegtns tfje Storp. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Grandfather Sylvester and his Family 1 
 
 / 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 / 
 
 3|ttmfrap continues tl;c Story. 
 
 The Lady’s Walk. 11 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Storp tells itself. 
 
 Mr. Pippo arrives. 37 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ®!)t Storp tells itself. 
 
 Mother Bunch goes to see the Fairies . 
 
 46 
 
X 
 
 Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 l^ttmfray tells tl)c Story. 
 
 Mother Bunch sees Angels instead of Fairies . 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 l^umfray tells t^e Story. 
 
 Mother Bunch’s first attempt at Gardening 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 l§umfray tells tlje Story. 
 
 “Misfortunes never come singly” 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 VL\)t Story tells Itself. 
 
 A Posy of Forget-me-nots. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 l?umfray tells tl)e Story. 
 
 Phyllis’s Ball of Worsted. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 1 t|umfray tells tfye Story. 
 
 Gay distinguishes himself : the Twins do not 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Tjumfray tells tf)c Story. 
 
 Gay has something on his mind . . . . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 69 
 
 85 
 
 . lOO 
 
 113 
 
 . 125 
 
 140 
 
 • 157 
 
Contents , 
 
 xi 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 !?umfray tells tf)C Story. 
 
 Bill and Nan’s Independence . 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ©I )C Story tells itself. 
 
 Christmas Roses in place of Forget-me-nots 
 
 * 
 
 CI-IAPTER XIV. 
 
 T^umfray tells t^e Story. 
 
 Who stole the Cake?. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 l^umfray entts tlje Story. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 171 
 
 . I87 
 
 197 
 
 Mr. Pippo’s Fortune 
 
 . 209 
 
MOTHER BUNCH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 pfttmfrag foojms tfje Stony 
 
 GRANDFATHER SYLVESTER AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 RANDFATHER Sylvester says that when 
 people write a story they ought to have 
 something to tell. I never thought that we should 
 have anything to say that would be worth hearing; 
 but several out-of-the-way things have happened 
 lately, and I will write them down ; for if others 
 follow perhaps a story may grow out of them 
 which some children may care to read. We are 
 
 B 
 
o 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 very fond of reading stories about young people 
 like ourselves ; Gay prefers wonderful romances 
 and adventures; but the remainder of us—and 
 there is a large remainder—choose books that 
 describe people like ourselves, their ways and their 
 doings. 
 
 We are a puzzling family, and it takes strangers 
 a long while to find out about us. Grandfather 
 Sylvester says we are a collection of “odds and 
 ends.” I often quote Grandfather Sylvester, in¬ 
 deed we all do ; first, because we are so fond of 
 him ; secondly, because he is so wise; thirdly, 
 because he is so good and kind. For these three 
 reasons we think so much of what he says. 
 
 We live in the village of Cool-Dillay : it is quite 
 a village, with about thirty cottages, and only one 
 house, which is ours. As there is only this one 
 house there is no need to give it a name; it is 
 just called The House ; which is what people in 
 towns call the Workhouse, Grandfather Sylvester 
 says : they talk of going to ‘ The House.’ If ‘ The 
 
Grandfather Sylvester and his Family. 
 
 3 
 
 House’ they mean were as comfortable as ours I 
 am sure, poor things, they would only be too glad 
 to go to it instead of trying with all their might to 
 keep out of it. I wish it was. But it is not. I 
 am afraid I am often given to wishing , and Ethel- 
 red is as often quoting 
 
 “ If wishes were horses 
 Beggars might ride.” 
 
 The House is a curious place to look at ; it is 
 not beautiful, but it is useful, for it holds a good 
 number of us. Grandfather Sylvester thinks, that 
 a very long time ago it was a small farm-house ; 
 then a wing was added to it ; and the next gene¬ 
 ration built a few more rooms, and the next 
 another wing, and so on. But as each person put 
 on the rooms they wanted in the place that suited 
 them best without giving a thought to the general 
 effect, the House has more the appearance of a 
 centipede or large spider than anything else, and 
 there are nineteen staircases. I assure you there 
 is not a better house for a good game of hide- 
 
4 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 and-seek on a wet day than ours—not in the whole 
 of England. 
 
 The head of the family,—the family of ‘ odds 
 and ends, 5 —and the master of the house, is dear 
 Grandfather Sylvester. His name is Sylvester 
 Reeve. He is very tall, about six foot three, I 
 believe, and he has snow-white hair and walks very 
 straight even now ; he is making a book upon 
 “ The Ferns of Great Britain both painting the 
 pictures of them and writing the account. He is 
 so clever, and has a great many clever friends, who 
 sometimes come down one or two at a time from 
 London to see him for a day or so. We generally 
 kept out of their way, we were afraid of clever 
 people until Grandfather Sylvester said it was a 
 mistake, and that really clever people are much 
 more like children and much fonder of ‘ good non¬ 
 sense 5 than other people. And since we have got 
 over our fear and mixed with them we have found 
 that he was true in that, as he always is true in 
 everything he says. 
 
Grandfather Sylvester and his Family , 
 
 5 
 
 Next to Grandfather Sylvester comes his daugh¬ 
 ter, Mrs. Clare, who is our mother. Our father 
 died when we were quite small, and we came to 
 live with Grandfather Sylvester. There are three 
 of us : first myself, Humfray Clare ; I was fourteen 
 my last birthday; then Phyllis, who is a year 
 younger; and then Galahad, or Gay, as he is 
 always called, who is nearly twelve. Mother had 
 him christened Galahad, because she is so fond of 
 Sir Galahad in “ The Idylls of the King.” Gay is 
 to try to grow up like his namesake, for mother 
 says that though this is the nineteenth century and 
 things and people have altered from what once 
 they were, yet we should try for the spirit and 
 the virtue of the olden times; try to be as good, 
 and faithful, as brave and true as the saints and 
 good knights were in the days of yore. Mother’s 
 last Christmas present to Gay was an illumination, 
 beautifully painted and framed ; it had these words-, 
 
 ‘ ‘ My strength is as the strength of ten, 
 
 Because my heart is pure.” 
 
6 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 Gay liked it immensely. He is such an odd little 
 chap. He had it hung up opposite to his bed, and 
 you can hear him plunging about in his bath and 
 chanting these lines the while ; or brushing at his 
 hair, still repeating them : indeed whatever he is 
 about in his bedroom he seems to do chanting 
 these two lines all the time. I suppose he forgets 
 how loud he says them ; or that we can hear. But 
 he is touchy upon the subject, so we do not tease 
 him ; only we cannot help being amused, he goes 
 at them with such a will. 
 
 Now we come to Cousin Constance, Mrs. Forbes. 
 She is niece to Grandfather Sylvester and cousin 
 to us. Her husband is not dead, but only away in 
 India, but he will not come home for some years, 
 and meanwhile she lives at the House. She has 
 four children. First, Ethelred, who is nearly a 
 year older than I ; then Sylvia, who is the age of 
 Phyllis ; then Bill and Nancy, the twins, who are 
 nearly ten. They are the most harum-scarum 
 couple, keeping us in perpetual hot water, for we 
 
Grandfather Sylvester and his Family. 
 
 7 
 
 never know what they will do next. They are 
 tall and thin, and very fair—almost white,—and 
 Ethelred calls them a pair of canaries,—which we 
 all think a very good name. They have pink skins, 
 and a small quantity of pale flossy hair, which Bill 
 brushes up on his head into a sort of tuft, exactly 
 like a crested canary. 
 
 Then there is Isabel Congreive, who is no rela¬ 
 tion, but only a ward of Grandfather Sylvester’s. 
 Her husband is dead, and she has two little chil¬ 
 dren, Vera, who is seven, and Gordon, who is a 
 couple of years younger. \ era we have always 
 called “ Mother Bunch,” because when she was a 
 baby she was so fat and grave, she was a regular 
 “ bunch” or bundle. She has grown thinner now, 
 but she is still as grave, and the name seems to 
 cling to her. She is the pet and darling of the 
 House, and has such odd ways, so unlike other 
 children, that Isabel gets dreadfully worried about 
 her. She declared once that we all spoilt her, and 
 • she began to think whether it was good for the 
 
8 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 child to be at the House, and she said, “ Perhaps she 
 had better take a little cottage in the village, and 
 try and train Mother Bunch to be more like the 
 rest of the world.” But my mother pointed out to 
 Isabel that Vera had always been and always 
 would be the same; that our petting had had 
 nothing to do with it. 
 
 “You cannot spoil Vera,” mother said, “and you 
 
 had much better let the child alone. She is as 
 
 / 
 
 good as she can be, and what do you want more ?” 
 
 “That is just it,” Isabel said, “she is too good. 
 
 I can’t help wishing she was not quite so good.” 
 
 “ Nonsense,” mother said, “ that is a very old- 
 fashioned idea about children being too good to 
 live. You ought to be thankful every day of your 
 life for such a child as Vera.” 
 
 And Isabel said no more about leaving the 'V 
 House, for she has a great respect for mother’s 
 opinion, as she is so much older than herself. 
 Isabel and I are great friends; the others like 
 dawdling about near home, and we are the only 
 
Grandfather Sylvester and his Family. 
 
 9 
 
 two who care for really long walks, so we go off 
 together for a ramble when we have time. I know 
 the cottage Isabel had in her mind. It is in the 
 lane at the bottom of the hill leading to Fairies' 
 Hollow. Old Sykes, a retired gardener, lived 
 there, and died about a fortnight ago. He was a 
 great friend of Mother Bunch’s and was devoted 
 to her ; always waiting for her to pass his cottage, 
 which she did nearly every day, that he might give 
 her a tiny nosegay of flowers. Sometimes in winter 
 it would be only a few bright-coloured leaves and 
 berries, but they were tied up in such a tasteful 
 manner that Isabel, and Phyllis, and Sylvia, and 
 even Cousin Constance have tried, but have never 
 managed to get the same effect. 
 
 i 
 
 This is the end of Grandfather Sylvester’s family; 
 those at least who live with him at the House. It 
 will be seen that we are the only ones—I mean, 
 Phyllis, Gay, and myself,—who are really Grand¬ 
 father’s children. But the others never call or 
 think of him as anything else, and indeed I believe 
 
10 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 that we all of us forget it, unless strangers remind 
 us, and I am sure Grandfather Sylvester himself 
 does, and looks upon every one of us separately 
 and the whole of us together as being his family ; 
 and he, as the head of us, is both our dear Grand¬ 
 father Sylvester and our very kind friend. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 P^umfrag continues tfjc £torg. 
 
 THE LADY’S WALK. 
 
 HE girls have lessons at home; mother, 
 
 Cousin Constance, and Isabel divide the 
 teaching between them, and masters come for 
 accomplishments,—singing, music, and drawing ; 
 there is also a drill-master. We boys go by train 
 to a large school in Millerstown, get back about 
 two, and do our preparation for the next day in 
 the afternoon. 
 
 We have breakfast and dinner alone, and a 
 supper-tea at seven,—the hour in the day to which 
 we look forward, with Grandfather Sylvester, 
 
 t 
 
12 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 mother, Cousin Constance, and Isabel. The worst 
 punishment that can be given, and it is only put 
 in force for some great wrong-doing, is to eat 
 our evening meal alone in the schoolroom, away 
 from the fun that is going on in the dining-room 
 or hall, for in summer we have tea in the hall, 
 which is large and square, paved with red tiles, 
 and with a deep, old-fashioned grate, where burns 
 a fire in the winter, and which in summer we keep 
 filled with boughs and ferns. 
 
 We had a surprise one morning, for as we were 
 sitting at breakfast Ted walked in. Ted is Isa¬ 
 bel’s brother, her only relation living, he is seven 
 years younger than she is, and is a barrister, or 
 upon the road to be one; he lives at the Temple, 
 and runs down to see us now and then when he 
 has a day to spare, but he never pays us a long 
 visit, only a few days at the outside. 
 
 “ When did you come ?” we all shouted, “ Isabel 
 never told us.” 
 
 “ Isabel did not know until this morning,” an- 
 
The Lady's Walk. 
 
 13 
 
 swered Ted. “ I came late last night, and I go 
 to-morrow evening. I have been begging for a 
 holiday for you, but everybody seems agreed that 
 you have had too many already, and they said, 
 ‘ No.’ I want some tea, if you please, Phyllis. 
 I am going to have breakfast with you school¬ 
 room party, instead of with the elders.” 
 
 “We have, had a great many holidays,” Phyllis 
 said, as she handed Ted his tea; “there are such 
 a number of birthdays, and that means a whole 
 day—” 
 
 “ Oh, not too many, not nearly enough,” cried 
 Bill and Nancy together. 
 
 “There spoke the Pickles,” said Ted, who is 
 always interested in the twins. “ And that reminds 
 me to ask what scrapes you have been indulging 
 in since I was here last.” 
 
 “None,” said Nancy, and Bill added in a mourn¬ 
 ful voice, “We have been too hard worked, at 
 least I have,—summer exams, and that sort of 
 thing” 
 
14 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 “What a comfort for the family,” said Ted, but 
 Ethelred stopped him. 
 
 “You forget the upsetting of the punt ?” he said. 
 
 “Of course, having been expressly told not to 
 go into it,” said Ted, shrugging his shoulders. “ I 
 thought I should hear of something. I suppose 
 you were damp when you were rescued from the 
 water ? Who pulled you out ?” 
 
 “ Roberts,” said Bill, “ we zvere wet; we had to 
 go to bed, though it was only four o’clock in the 
 afternoon.” 
 
 “Then there was Cook’s bonnet,” said Sylvia, 
 but as she mentioned this we all burst out laugh¬ 
 ing, and though several spoke, nothing was heard 
 until we had had our laugh fairly out, when Bill 
 remarked, 
 
 “That was Pat; that isn’t fair, it wasn’t Nancy 
 or me.” 
 
 “ Oh!” we all shouted, for this we could not 
 bear, and Ted looked across at Ethelred and 
 nodded. 
 
The Lady's Walk. 
 
 15 
 
 “ I should like to hear the story,—you tell it, 
 Ethelred.” 
 
 Ethelred cleared his throat and began,— 
 
 “Since you were here, Colonel Gordon has sent 
 Bill and Nancy a present, a beautiful red Irish 
 setter called Pat,—no, you are not to interrupt 
 me,—I said he was beautiful—” 
 
 “ Order,” called out Ted, and Bill and Nancy, 
 who were longing to speak, fidgeted upon their 
 chairs, but did not disobey. 
 
 “ Pat is quite a young dog, and quite untrained, 
 as wild as Bill and Nancy themselves, and Grand¬ 
 father Sylvester especially ordered that he was 
 not to come into the house. But one day Bill and 
 Nancy forgot, and rushed in with Pat at their 
 heels in a state of great delight. When they re¬ 
 membered, they tried to catch him, but by this 
 time he was far too wide awake to allow himself 
 to be caught. Humfray and I happened to be 
 at home, and we joined in the chase. It was one 
 of the best games of hide-and-seek we ever had, 
 
16 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 for as soon as Pat’s tail whisked round one corner, 
 we saw his red head and bright eyes peeping at 
 us from another, and he was always appearing in 
 the most unexpected places, and before we could 
 lay hands on him, was careering off at full speed. 
 At last we lost him for a few minutes,—we were 
 then in the attics,—and Bill and Nancy declared 
 he must have got on the leads, and were working 
 themselves into a state at the idea of his commit¬ 
 ting suicide by jumping over the parapet, when 
 we heard a bustle in one of the bedrooms; we 
 had looked in before, and thought it was empty, 
 but we looked in again. It was Cook’s afternoon 
 out, she had been to visit a friend in the village, 
 and when she came in had taken off her bonnet 
 and shawl and put them upon the bed. It was 
 her Sunday-go-to-meeting bonnet, and was adorned 
 with a large orange feather. Pat had amused him¬ 
 self by unpicking the bonnet, which was scattered 
 in pieces over the floor, and the feather he had 
 licked and licked until it was as straight as a bit 
 
The Lady's Walk. 
 
 i; 
 
 of stick. Bill ‘and Nancy’s first thought was 
 whether the yellow stuff off the feather would 
 poison Pat, but he sat upright, wagging his 
 feathery tail, as pleased as Punch. Cook cried 
 over her bonnet,—poor old Cook, she was vexed.” 
 
 “ We had to save up our pocket-money to buy 
 her another,” said Bill. 
 
 They had not at all liked doing this, and they 
 always spoke in an injured tone about it. 
 
 “ But it did not make up for the old one,” I said. 
 “You know Cook told us she could not replace 
 that orange feather for love or money. There was 
 not another left.” 
 
 “ She has a red, which is prettier,” said Nancy; 
 “ it cost a good deal,” with a deep sigh. 
 
 “ It did',' said Bill. “ I had no idea bonnets 
 were so expensive. Don’t you ever take to them, 
 Nancy.” 
 
 “ I won’t,” said Nancy. 
 
 “ The colour of the feather was a matter of 
 opinion,” said Ethelred. “ Cook, who had to wear 
 
 c 
 
i8 
 
 Mother Bunch . 
 
 the bonnet, preferred the orange. You do not 
 think of that.” 
 
 “ It seems to me that you Pickles make a point 
 of forgetting. Turn over a new leaf and make a 
 point of remembering. It is quite as easy; only 
 try? 
 
 “ Grandfather Sylvester says they grow worse 
 
 instead of better,” says Sylvia, “and that they 
 
 remind him of an old housekeeper who always 
 
 brought her accounts week by week to her master, 
 
 and at the end there was the word 4 Fagots.’ At 
 
 % 
 
 first it was not much, but it grew to a larger sum 
 each time, until at last her master asked her how 
 it was that they could possibly burn so much 
 wood. Then she explained that the word was not 
 ‘ Fagots’ but ‘ Forgets', and that whenever she could 
 not remember how she had spent the money, she 
 put it down under ‘ Forgets .’ ” 
 
 “ It would save me a world of trouble if I could 
 lump my weekly accounts under the head of ‘ For¬ 
 gets,’ ” said Ted. “ Some more tea if you please, 
 
The Lady's Walk. 
 
 19 
 
 Phyllis. Well, Gordon, why are you gazing so re¬ 
 flectively at that empty egg-shell ?” 
 
 “ Poor Hegg” said Gordon, thoughtfully. 
 
 We could not help laughing. 
 
 “ Wise Gordon, to eat the egg first and then say 
 
 ‘ Poor He gg’ af ter it was eaten,” said Ethelred, 
 and Ted added, 
 
 “ 1 pad n o idea you were such a little cockney, 
 Gordon.” 
 
 “It is our fault,” said Phyllis. “Isabel gets 
 quite vexed with us, and we really ought not to do 
 it. We must turn over a new leaf, but I am afraid 
 we have encouraged Gordon to aspirate his ITs 
 in the wrong place and to talk bad grammar. He 
 doesn’t know any better himself, and thinks it is all 
 right.” 
 
 “ It is right, Gordon,” said Bill. “ Be sure you 
 say ’am and heggs ; it sounds very pretty.” 
 
 “ Por shame, Bill,” said Sylvia, “ you know we 
 promised Isabel we would not do it any more. It 
 is e gg> dear Gordon, not hegg.” 
 
20 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 “ Hegg ,” said poor Gordon, struggling hard and 
 being more emphatic than ever. 
 
 “ No,” said Phyllis, “ try again, egg, Gordon, 
 
 egg” 
 
 “ Egg, Gordon, Hegg ,” repeated he. 
 
 “ The first was right,” said Sylvia, “ we will try 
 again another time.” 
 
 There was a knock. We said “ Come in,” and 
 Frederick, our new indoor man, entered. He is 
 so very shy and awkward ; blushes every time any 
 one looks at him and speaks to him ; does not 
 know what to do with his legs and arms, and is in 
 and out of the room like a Jack-in-the-box. He 
 was a lad in the village, and Grandfather Sylvester 
 took him out of kindness, because he is an orphan, 
 a great friend of Mother Bunch’s, who begged hard 
 and coaxed Grandfather Sylvester to try him. But 
 he will want a great deal of training before he is 
 worth anything, Grandfather Sylvester says. He 
 has fair hair, china blue eyes, and a pink and white 
 complexion. Bill and Nancy think he would look 
 
The Ladys Walk. 
 
 21 
 
 so nice in a bonnet, and are longing to get him to 
 try on one. He is not ugly until he laughs, and 
 then his face creases all over as if he were quite 
 an old man. It was creased when he gave his 
 message with a chuckle of delight before it. 
 
 “ Please, Miss Vera, and when breakfast is done 
 will you go to Mr. Reeve in his study, and he will 
 show you which piece of garden you are to have in 
 the Lady’s Walk.” 
 
 Frederick disappeared, directly he had said this, 
 so quickly that the news took our breath away. 
 None of us had ever had the honour of a piece of 
 ground in the Lady’s Walk. We had to be con¬ 
 tent with the plots down by the shrubbery, and 
 Roberts even grumbled at our having those. 
 “ Such a waste of good land,” he called it. Indeed 
 we were wondering what Mother Bunch would do. 
 Not another inch of ground would Roberts give 
 us, and we each had our separate piece when we 
 were seven years old to do with entirely as we 
 pleased. Grandfather Sylvester often walked down 
 
22 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 to see them and laugh over them. He said he 
 could read something of our characters in the way 
 we managed our gardens. This year, for instance, 
 Bill and Nancy had pulled up their flowers and 
 planted nothing but radishes, because they were so 
 fond of them. They were always bringing in 
 plates of radishes for breakfast, so long as they 
 lasted, of course forgetting to wash them, and ex¬ 
 pecting us to eat them with the mould upon them. 
 Mother Bunch was seven years old a week ago, 
 and we were wondering where her garden would 
 be when Frederick’s message gave us a surprise. 
 
 “ I never thought Grandfather Sylvester would 
 give anybody a garden in the Lady’s Walk,” said 
 Phyllis. 
 
 “ What is the story about it ?” asked Ted. 
 
 “ Have you never heard it ?” we all said, and 
 Ethelred added, 
 
 “You must have heard it and forgotten it.” 
 
 “Yes, I am sure you have,” said Sylvia, quite 
 reproachfully. “ Fancy knowing Grandfather Syl- 
 
The Lady's Walk. 
 
 23 
 
 vester all these years and never having heard the 
 famous story.” 
 
 “ Famous to us” I said. 
 
 “ I am very sorry,” said Ted, “but I can’t tell an 
 untruth and say I know it when I do not. Who 
 will tell it ?” 
 
 “ Gay,” we all said. 
 
 And Sylvia said, “ Gay loves to tell it.” 
 
 He does ; and having told it so often and having 
 it by heart, he started off with the speed of an 
 express train. 
 
 “ The story took place a long time ago in the 
 days when there was more fighting than there is 
 in these days, and no penny posts, and no railway, 
 so that when people went to the wars they were 
 often not heard of for months at a stretch. And 
 there lived in this house then an old lady,—a 
 great-great-great-grandmother of our Grandfather 
 Sylvester, and she had only one son : but there 
 was a young lady who lived with her to read to her 
 and write her letters for her, for she was blind. The 
 
24 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 name of the son was Humfray, and the young lady 
 was Phyllis, and those two names are kept up in 
 the family to this day. Humfray and Phyllis were 
 engaged to be married when there came a sum¬ 
 mons for him to join his regiment, which was or¬ 
 dered abroad for active service. He thought he 
 might be away for some time, and he left his 
 faithful dog Luarth, a beautiful bloodhound, in 
 Phyllis’s charge. The morning Humfray went off 
 Phyllis and Luarth walked with him as far as that 
 little green hill with the seven firs growing upon 
 it, called the Seven Sisters. Here Humfray put 
 upon Phyllis’s finger a gold ring with a large 
 sapphire in the centre, surrounded with small 
 diamonds. And he told her to read the inscrip¬ 
 tion inside the ring when he was gone ; never to 
 forget him, and every day to pray for his safe re¬ 
 turn. Then he mounted his horse and rode slowly 
 away, turning at the bend of the road to wave his 
 hand to her for the last * good-bye.’ The motto 
 written inside the ring was, as Phyllis found when 
 she looked, ‘ Le jour viendra,’ or ‘ The day will come.’ 
 
The Lady's Walk. 
 
 25 
 
 For some while they heard news of Humfray as 
 regularly as he could manage to send it; but then 
 for a long, long time they heard nothing. At first 
 this did not make them anxious, for they hoped 
 he might be on his way home ; but weeks and 
 months passed, and still no tidings came. Every 
 day, whatever the weather, Phyllis and Luarth 
 always walked to the Seven Sisters, and Luarth 
 would prick up his ears as they stood for a few 
 minutes watching, and whine and look up in 
 Phyllis’s face as much as to say, ‘ Is not my master 
 coming ?’ And Phyllis’s favourite walk in the 
 garden was that raised terrace underneath the wall 
 of the kitchen garden ; for from it she could see 
 the Seven Sisters; and she paced up and down it 
 so often, with Luarth by her side, that that was the 
 reason it had the name it -has kept ever since—the 
 title of ‘ The Lady’s Walk.’ 
 
 “ Then Humfray’s mother died, and Phyllis and 
 Luarth were left alone in the House with only the 
 servants. There had been constant inquiries made 
 about Humfray and various reports ; some said he 
 
2 6 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 had been wounded and taken prisoner ; others that 
 he had married and was ashamed to come home. 
 But when Phyllis heard this last report she only 
 smiled and kissed the ring he had given her with 
 the motto inside it, ‘ The day will come. And 
 when some one said, ‘ But he may be dead, she 
 said, ‘ Yes, but then the day will come in Heaven.’ 
 She knew he could not be untrue to her. 
 
 “ Then poor Luarth who was growing very aged 
 had rheumatism in his limbs; but he managed 
 always to go with Phyllis when she went upon her 
 daily walk to the Seven Sisters : until one morn¬ 
 ing when he dragged himself there with a great 
 effort and then, instead of sitting ‘at attention’ 
 with his ears pricked back, he just stretched him¬ 
 self at her feet and died. Phyllis had him buried 
 upon the hill with a stone over his grave and 
 
 ‘ Luarth, 
 
 A Faithful Friend,’ 
 
 carved upon it.” 
 
 “ We always keep the nettles and grass away 
 
The Lady's Walk . 
 
 27 
 
 from the stone,” said Phyllis, “ and you can read 
 the words quite plainly still.” 
 
 “ Poor animal,” said Ted. “ Go on, Gay, I am 
 anxious to hear the end.” 
 
 “ Nine years passed, when, one evening as Phyllis 
 was walking up and down the terrace walk the 
 little wicket-gate at the end of it opened, and a 
 tall man who stooped very much came towards 
 her. He had lost one of his arms ; his face was 
 cut and scarred, and his hair was white ; but it 
 was only for an instant Phyllis thought him an old 
 man and a stranger; she recognised Humfray, 
 altered though he was, and with a glad cry she 
 ran to meet him. He told her his adventures 
 afterwards, how he had been taken prisoner, was 
 wounded and ill for a long time. When he grew 
 better he had to work very hard, and was so closely 
 guarded that it was years before he managed 
 to escape. They were married soon afterwards, 
 and lived at the House very happily, until they 
 died.” 
 
28 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 “ It is a very pretty story even if it is not true,” 
 said Ted. 
 
 We were very much shocked, for we had never 
 ourselves doubted the entire truth of the story, and 
 we knew that Grandfather Sylvester firmly believed 
 in it, quite as firmly as we did ; so we set upon 
 Ted, the whole of us except Vera and Gordon, and 
 demanded “ why he doubted it.” 
 
 We had a noisy discussion, and then Ted said 
 abruptly, 
 
 “ What became of the ring ? It ought to be 
 handed down as an heirloom in the family. 
 A ring with such a story would be worth hav¬ 
 ing.” 
 
 There was silence. No one spoke until I said, 
 
 “ That is the odd part. The ring has never been 
 found. Grandfather Sylvester cannot think what 
 has become of it.” 
 
 “ Ah,” said Ted. 
 
 “ He thinks,” said Ethelred, “ that perhaps it was 
 buried with Phyllis, those two figures in the church 
 
The Lady's Walk. 
 
 29 
 
 carved in stone with their two children kneeling at 
 their feet are Humfray and Phyllis.” 
 
 “ And if they are buried and their likenesses are 
 in the church it must be true,” said Gay. 
 
 “ Oh, I did not disbelieve in the people them¬ 
 selves, only in the story,” said Ted. 
 
 “/ mean to believe it, in spite of all you say,” 
 said Sylvia. 
 
 “ So do I,” we all said, one aft$r the other, and 
 Ted laughed. 
 
 ' “ It was a very good story at any rate,” he said, 
 “ and in return for it I will give you a piece of 
 news. Next Thursday Pippo Stevens is coming 
 to stay here for a few days. Look at Bill and 
 Nancy, how wide-awake they are at the mere men¬ 
 tion of news. He is an artist.” 
 
 “ One of Grandfather Sylvester’s very clever 
 friends,” said Nancy, in a disappointed voice. 
 
 “ He is an uncommonly good sort of fellow,” said 
 Ted, “but very shy and sensitive. Pie has fingers 
 that can paint pictures, and a brain that can invent 
 
30 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 them; but, alas! no money. His mother was 
 Italian, his father English. Wait for him anxiously, 
 Mother Bunch and Gordon, and you will see the 
 newest fashion. Brown velvet coat, yellow silk 
 stockings, yellow tie, brown velvet knee-breeches 
 tied in with yellow ribbon ; and a sunflower as 
 large as your head for a button-hole.” 
 
 “ How nice he will look,” said Vera. 
 
 “ We will go into my nursery and watch for him 
 from dee window,” said Gordon, drumming upon 
 the table with delight. 
 
 Phyllis exclaimed that she had no idea it was 
 so late. Nor had we, we had been so busy talk¬ 
 ing, that the time had slipped away, and we boys 
 had to run for it, or we should have missed the 
 train, and we left Ted having a game of play with 
 Gordon, and Vera trotting off to Grandfather 
 Sylvester’s study. 
 
 Grandfather Sylvester says that Vera is such a 
 mixture,—in some things so very childish, in others 
 so wise. He says she reminds him more than any 
 
The Lady's Walk. 
 
 3i 
 
 one he ever came across of that verse in the Bible 
 about being “wise as serpents, and harmless as 
 doves.” She is so very grave, and hardly ever 
 laughs, but looks at you with her large serious 
 eyes as if she were thinking a great deal about 
 you. Though she is the youngest in the house, 
 except Gordon, everybody seems to tell her 
 things. 
 
 We have had a great worry with our house¬ 
 maids, they no sooner come than they get engaged 
 and leave us to be married ; I believe we have had 
 five fresh ones in eighteen months, and it was to 
 Mother Bunch they each of them first told the 
 news of their engagement. When Roger, the boy 
 who does odds and ends, gets into trouble, he 
 goes to her to be comforted. She sits quite still, 
 and thinks for a great while, and then sometimes 
 she says something very wise and quaint, or if she 
 cannot think of anything to say, she just puts her 
 two arms round your neck and loves you, which 
 does equally well, if not better. 
 
32 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 Cool-Dillay is so small, that we know all about 
 the people as if they were our own relations, and 
 they know all about us. Vera is present at every¬ 
 thing that goes on ; she has been bridesmaid seven 
 or eight times, and she went to the funeral of little 
 Billy Parker. Isabel was quite vexed at Mother 
 Bunch wanting to go to a funeral, she said she did 
 not like children to hear or see any sad things, 
 they ought to be always bright and happy. But 
 Grandfather Sylvester said it would not make 
 Vera unhappy to go, that she is never unhappy, 
 though she is so grave. And indeed Grandfather 
 Sylvester was quite right, for we all have our ups 
 and downs, and feel miserable now and then, but 
 Vera is always the same ; and I am sure she looked 
 quite as serious when she was starting for a wed¬ 
 ding as for the funeral. And the girls said that she 
 was equally grave when strewing flowers before 
 the bride, or emptying her white roses upon Billy 
 Parker’s coffin. When Mother Bunch saw that 
 Isabel was vexed that she wanted to go to the 
 
The Lady's Walk. 
 
 33 
 
 funeral, she climbed into her lap, put her arms 
 round her neck, and said, 
 
 “ Mamsey, when poor Billy was alive he cried 
 because he was ill, but now God has wiped away 
 his tears, and he is not crying any more.” 
 
 Isabel teaches her a text every morning; she 
 is very slow in learning it, but never forgets it 
 when she has once learnt it. Her text that morn¬ 
 ing had been, “And GOD shall wipe away all tears 
 from their eyes.” 
 
 When Isabel saw the way in which Vera looked 
 at it, she put her down from her lap and said, 
 though I saw there were tears in her eyes as she 
 spoke, 
 
 “Very well, Vera darling, I give you permission 
 to go to little Billy Parker’s funeral, but you must 
 come home directly afterwards, as the sun is hot 
 now at three in the afternoon. We shall some of 
 us be there too. Now run away and gather your 
 white roses.” 
 
 We were all talking about Mother Bunch the 
 
 D 
 
34 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 other day, and we came to the conclusion that 
 the reason she is so unlike other children and 
 other people altogether, is that she has so much 
 
 faith. It looks funny written down on paper, for 
 
 # 
 
 I suppose we all ought to have faith, but Vera 
 not only believes everything she is told, but she 
 acts upon it. 
 
 I will give an instance,—Mother was giving the 
 younger children a religious lesson, and she said 
 that when we say our prayers, God is listening to 
 us just as if the one who was praying was the 
 only person in the whole world, and that He 
 always answers prayer. Vera listened most at¬ 
 tentively, and now whenever she wants anything, 
 she goes straight away and prays for it, and is 
 quite satisfied that she will be sure to get it. 
 Vera never doubts. 
 
 Then she is very fond of saying her prayers,— 
 I do not mean morning and evening, and a prayer 
 in the middle of the day to remember that our 
 Lord died for us, which we all say, but prayers 
 
The Lady's Walk. 
 
 35 
 
 f 
 
 at odd times. She never passes the church, 
 which stands open all day, without going into 
 it to say a prayer. I heard Bill and Nancy, 
 who are not fond of going to church, ask her 
 once, 
 
 “Why do you say so many prayers, Mother 
 Bunch ?” 
 
 And she just looked at them quite straight and 
 grave, and said, 
 
 “ Because GOD is listening, and I do not like 
 keeping Him waiting.” 
 
 It is the kind of reply she always gives,—some¬ 
 thing that you do not understand, and cannot 
 answer again. 
 
 There is another thing. As Vera believes every¬ 
 thing she is told, we have to be very careful what 
 we say. Grandfather Sylvester says it is very 
 good for us to have this guard upon our tongues, 
 because it helps us to keep from exaggerations 
 and from telling crams. He says that crams are 
 just white lies and nothing less. Some of the 
 
36 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 boys we know think Grandfather Sylvester both 
 strict and “faddy,” as they call it. But we love 
 him dearly, and we feel that if he is particular, 
 it is only because he wants us to grow up good 
 and true. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 SHje iStortr tells itself. 
 
 MR. PIPPO ARRIVES. 
 
 T)IPPO Stevens came, and there was no one to 
 ^ receive him but Vera and Gordon. He had 
 written to say by what train he was coming, 
 and Mr. Reeve had intended to go to the station 
 to meet him, taking also Ethelred and Humfray. 
 But when the day arrived, Pippo Stevens found he 
 could get away earlier than he had thought, and 
 as he had not been out of London even for a day 
 for the last two years, he had such a longing for a 
 breath of fresh air, that he put his things into his 
 portmanteau, ran down to the station, took the first 
 
38 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 train he could catch, and made his appearance at 
 Cool-Dillay at half-past four instead of seven. 
 The late tea was postponed until half-past seven. 
 
 The party had dispersed their various ways, only 
 Vera and Gordon, who were not allowed out in 
 the heat of the summer until five, were at home. 
 They were , in the schoolroom at play when Fre¬ 
 derick knocked at the door and came in, in a state 
 of great excitement. 
 
 “ Please, Miss Vera, the gentleman has come, 
 and what am I to do with he ? He is, all alone in 
 master’s study. There is nobody at home.” 
 
 “There is Gordon and there is me,” said Vera, 
 getting up and holding out her hand. “ Come, 
 Gordon, Mr. Pippo is here, and we must go and 
 see him.” 
 
 “ He wasn’t ’pected so soon,” said Gordon. “ I 
 meant to have been watching for him from my 
 nursery window.” 
 
 “ It is all the better that he has come, because 
 we shall see him sooner,” said Vera. 
 
Mr. Pippo arrives. 
 
 39 
 
 Frederick followed at a distance to hear if there 
 were any orders for him. Vera and Gordon 
 entered the room together and found Mr. Pippo, 
 as they called him, looking out of the window. 
 He turned as their footsteps fell upon his ear, and 
 they saw a short slender man, with a very thin 
 dark face and large brown eyes. He was evidently 
 shy, for he grew red even underneath his dark 
 complexion, as he came forward to meet the two 
 children. 
 
 “ This is Gordon and I am Vera, and the others 
 are out. Will you please sit down, Mr. Pippo ?” 
 said Vera, in her sweet slow voice. 
 
 “ I am afraid I came sooner than I was ex¬ 
 pected,” said Mr. Pippo, growing redder and stam¬ 
 mering a little. 
 
 “ That does not matter; we wanted you to 
 come,” said Vera, and Gordon thrust his golden 
 head forward and said eagerly, 
 
 “ We is welly glad to see you.” 
 
 “ Thank you,” said Mr. Pippo; then they sat in 
 
40 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 silence for a few seconds. Frederick was waiting 
 door in hand and looking anxiously at Vera. 
 
 “ What would you like to have to eat ?” asked 
 Vera. “ Grandfather Sylvester says that travelling 
 makes people hungry.” 
 
 “ I—I am not in the least hungry, I assure you,” 
 said Mr. Pippo. “ I had a good luncheon. Pray let 
 me wait until the usual meal, I would not for the 
 world give trouble.” 
 
 “If you isn’t hungry p’raps you is thirsty,” said 
 Gordon. “ I is. It’s so hot. Will you have some 
 tea with Vera and me ?” 
 
 Gordon had hit upon the exact truth; Mr. Pippo 
 was thirsty, very thirsty, and w r ould be most grate¬ 
 ful for a cup of tea. Frederick was off like a shot 
 and the tea soon appeared, much stronger than 
 usual, for Vera and Gordon generally had a great 
 deal of milk and a suspicion of tea to give it a 
 flavour. Gordon went to bed before the evening 
 meal, which they took all together, but Vera had 
 made it her supper since she was six and a half, 
 
Mr. Pippo arrives . 
 
 4i 
 
 and so would Gordon when he arrived at that 
 age. 
 
 “ Do you think you can pour it out yourself, 
 Miss Vera ?” whispered Frederick. “ I had it made 
 in the little tea-pot so as it might not be too heavy 
 for you.” 
 
 “Yes, thank you, Frederick,” said Vera. 
 
 “ Oh let me carry it, I will be careful,” pleaded 
 Gordon, as he saw Frederick waiting to hand the 
 tea. “ There,” he said triumphantly, as he put the 
 cup and saucer down upon the table by Pippo 
 Stevens’ side, “ I did carry it welly carefully. I 
 wish there were four Mr. Pippo’s that I might carry 
 four cups of tea.” 
 
 “ Perhaps Mr. Pippo will have another cup when 
 he has finished that,” said Vera. 
 
 “ Oh, you will, won’t you ?” asked Gordon 
 
 anxiously. 
 
 Mr. Pippo laughed. He was feeling quite at 
 home with these two charming children. 
 
 “ Perhaps I shall have more than ‘ another cup, 
 
42 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 if you can spare it,” he said ; “ it is a hot day for 
 travelling, and I am very thirsty.” 
 
 “ Oh, you can have twenty cups,” said Gordon 
 hospitably ; “ as many as ever you want, and I will 
 carry them for you welly carefully.” 
 
 « 
 
 Vera and Gordon now had leisure to inspect 
 their visitor; and they were much disappointed in 
 the result. Vera peeped under the table and only 
 saw a pair of ordinary heather-mixture trousers ; 
 Gordon peered all over him, and sighed. Pippo 
 Stevens, unconscious of the disappointment he was 
 causing, drank his tea and ate his bread-and- 
 butter, and felt he was having a very good time. 
 When Gordon could contain himself no longer he 
 spoke, 
 
 “ What have you done with your welwet coat ?” 
 he asked. 
 
 “And your yellow silk stockings ?” asked Vera. 
 
 “ And your tunflower?” continued Gordon. 
 
 “ And your brown velvet knee-breeches tied with 
 yellow ribbon ?” added Vera. 
 
Mr. Pippo arrives. 
 
 43 
 
 Pippo Stevens was completely mystified ; he 
 glanced with astonishment from one questioner to 
 another. 
 
 “ It was Uncle Ted told us,” said Vera. “We 
 thought you would be so prettily dressed ; and 
 Gordon was going to wait at the nursery window to 
 see you come.” 
 
 “ Oh,” said Pippo Stevens, laughing, “ I under¬ 
 stand. I went to a fancy ball in a dress the 
 same as you describe, and your Uncle Ted was 
 there.” 
 
 “ Then Uncle Ted was not telling ’tories ?” asked 
 Gordon. 
 
 “ Oh, no, I really have the dress and have worn 
 it, more than once; but I have left it at home 
 now.” 
 
 “You would have made it dusty and ’poiled it 
 travelling,” said Gordon. “ But you will bring it 
 the next time you come ?” 
 
 “ If I am invited again. Yes.” 
 
 “ You promise, sure?” 
 
44 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 “ I promise, sure!' 
 
 “ And you will wear it ?” 
 
 “ Some evening, to please you. Yes.” 
 
 “ Why not in the day-time ?” persisted Gordon. 
 
 But Vera interposed saying, “ Mr. Pippo wants 
 some more tea,” and Gordon was only too ready 
 to hand the cup and saucer. The carrying of 
 it safely took off his attention from Mr. Pippo’s 
 dress, and soon after some of the walking party 
 returned, and were surprised to find their visitor 
 had arrived. Grandfather Sylvester had known 
 his father slightly, but this was Pippo Stevens’ 
 first introduction to any of the family, except 
 Ted, who was more an outsider. It was for¬ 
 tunate, as they were such a large party, that 
 they came in by twos and threes, so that 
 Pippo Stevens was not quite overwhelmed by 
 numbers. He was shy and nervous, and gave 
 them the impression of being rather sad and de¬ 
 pressed. 
 
 In the midst of the talking Vera, who had been 
 
45 
 
 Mr. Pippo arrives. 
 
 standing watching the sun as he was moving 
 leisurely towards the west, slipped out of the room, 
 trotted up stairs, put on her large white cotton 
 bonnet, picked up Sweep the kitten, and set off for 
 a walk by herself. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Wqz itorg tells itself. 
 
 MOTHER BUNCH GOES TO SEE THE FAIRIES. 
 
 1\ /T OTHER Bunch was in the habit of paying 
 visits to her friends and of going about 
 the village alone; or, if she could get hold of one, 
 accompanied by an animal. Pat was devoted to 
 her, and was always upon the look-out for her ; 
 but this afternoon he was with his master and 
 mistress, so Mother Bunch had to content herself 
 with Sweep, who purred contentedly, and peered 
 about him in a manner which showed he was used 
 to the arrangement. 
 
 Mother Bunch had been hearing a great deal 
 
Mother Bunch goes to see the Fairies. 47 
 
 about fairies lately, and last night she had asked 
 Sylvia if they lived in the Fairies’ Hollow. Sylvia, 
 who was buried in a book, hardly heard what was 
 said, and answered, 
 
 “ Yes, I suppose so.” 
 
 “ Do they come out in the day-time, because I 
 have never seen them ?” was Vera’s next ques¬ 
 tion. 
 
 “ Who ?” asked Sylvia, rousing a little. 
 
 “ The fairies.” 
 
 “ Oh, no, never in the day-time.” 
 
 “ When do they come out ?” 
 
 “ In the evening when the sun is going to bed, 
 I suppose. If you will wait until I have finished 
 this story, Mother Bunch, I will answer any ques¬ 
 tions you like to ask.” 
 
 But Vera had heard all she wanted to know, and 
 troubled Sylvia no further. When the others came 
 in and entertained Mr. Pippo she set off for the 
 Fairies’ Hollow that she might see the Little 
 People with her own eyes. The sun was still a 
 
48 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 long way from his bed which the clouds were ar¬ 
 ranging for him, but Vera was one who took 
 things quietly, and she often stayed to have a 
 friendly chat with some of her neighbours in the 
 village. 
 
 The Fairies’ Hollow was at the extreme end of 
 Cool-Dillay: past old Sykes’s cottage was a steep 
 ascent, bordered on each side by red rocks and 
 large trees: then there was a sudden dip where 
 grew larch, aspen, alder and fir trees ; in the spring 
 a carpet of wild flowers,—and through which there 
 sang a little stream of brown water as it made its 
 way over a bed of soft sand, and hard round, white 
 pebbles. The flowers were withered now, but the 
 ground was covered with moss ; large ferns waved 
 in the shade, and some branches of honeysuckle 
 threw themselves from one tree to another. It 
 was a very charming spot, and sometimes a picnic 
 from the nearest town found its way there and 
 made the grass black where they boiled their kettle, 
 and strewed the ground with corks and ginger- 
 
Mother Bunch goes to see the Fairies. 
 
 49 
 
 beer bottles, torn pieces of paper and fragments of 
 food. Vera, who was very fond of the Fairies’ 
 Hollow, had a hard day’s work in tidying up after 
 one of these parties ; sometimes Bill and Nancy 
 helped her if they had “ nothing better to do,” and 
 the brown stream worked hard too, and carried 
 away all the rubbish for them : he was quite a 
 fierce little stream in winter and spring, and rushed 
 along in such a hurry, for then he was so full of 
 water that he knew, unless he rushed along with 
 it very fast to empty it into the river, that it would 
 gain the mastery over him and overflow his banks. 
 
 Mother Bunch walked very slowly, for there 
 was no need to hurry. The village was wide¬ 
 awake at that evening hour ; men coming from 
 work ; boys off to the cricket-field ; women and 
 children standing at their gates to welcome hus¬ 
 band and father home. It was the hour of rest 
 after a hard day’s work, and people were making 
 the most of it. Each of them had a smile and 
 greeting from Vera as she passed through the 
 
 E 
 
50 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 midst of them, Sweep tucked comfortably under 
 her arm. 
 
 Upon the road she met a little girl, running very 
 fast, her hat falling off the back of her head, her 
 face red and hot, her hands holding up her pinafore 
 in a tight grasp. 
 
 “This is Polly Beaver,” said Vera, squeezing 
 Sweep to attract his attention. 
 
 “ Polly ?” 
 
 But Polly instead of curtseying, smiling, and 
 saying “ good evening,” only shot a very cross look 
 at Vera over one shoulder, and panted on faster 
 than before. 
 
 Mother Bunch was much puzzled ; and stood 
 watching until Polly had passed out of sight. A 
 short distance further she came to a small cottage 
 with a long strip of garden before it, the picture of 
 neatness. A straight path divided the two borders 
 that led to the cottage, and this path was paved 
 with the round white pebbles about the size of a 
 marble which lay at the bottom of the brook. 
 
Mother Bunch goes to see the Fairies. 
 
 51 
 
 Whoever did it had a character in which patience 
 and perseverance were both combined. 
 
 And that boy was Joe, who was at that moment 
 seated in the middle of the paved path ; dressed in 
 his smock frock and corduroy trousers; crying as 
 fast as the tears would come, and wiping them 
 away with the tail of his smock. 
 
 Vera put down Sweep, who arched his back 
 and trotted quietly home; then she undid the 
 latch of the small gate and went up to the sob¬ 
 bing boy. 
 
 “ What is the matter, Joe ?” 
 
 No answer. 
 
 “Joe ?” 
 
 “Yes,” sob, “Miss,” sob, sob, “Vera,” sob, sob, 
 sob. 
 
 “ Something very bad must be the matter. Is 
 your mother ill, Joe ?” 
 
 “ No,” sob, “ her’s,” sob, “ out.” 
 
 “ Then what is it, Joe ?” 
 
 “ It’s—it’s her, Miss Vera. Her’s a nasty, spite- 
 
52 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 ful little cat, and I won’t have nothing more to do 
 with she.” 
 
 “ Oh, Joe, you do not mean your mother ,” said 
 Vera in a shocked voice. 
 
 Joe’s tears dried under the thought of some one 
 to whom he could pour out his woes, and his words 
 came hot and indignant, 
 
 “ No, Miss Vera, ’tisn’t mother, it’s that nasty 
 spiteful Polly Beaver. Her’s a vixen, her is.” 
 
 “ But you and Polly are such friends,” said 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 “ Oh, yes,” said Joe, derisively, “ much her cares 
 for I, or her wouldn’t have behaved so spiteful ; 
 her don’t care for nobody but herself,” and Joe’s 
 tears began afresh at the remembrance. He had 
 only sobbed before, now he howled, and the tears 
 rained down his cheeks, tumbling one over the 
 other as if they were having a race to see which 
 could get to his chin first. 
 
 Mother Bunch was patient, and she was also 
 sensible. She was not a strong child, and grew 
 
Mother Bunch goes to see the Fairies. 
 
 53 
 
 easily tired ; so seeing a milking-stool at the cot¬ 
 tage door, she fetched it and sat down opposite to 
 Joe, waiting until he had finished crying. 
 
 “Tell me about it, Joe,” she said, when his howl¬ 
 ing had somewhat subsided, and he was rubbing 
 his arm backwards and forwards across his red 
 eyes. 
 
 “ It was the hen-and-chicken,” said Joe. “ I 
 did took such care on ’em, Miss Vera. They was 
 the only ones I had, and they was give to me by 
 Daddy Sykes. And Polly she come to help me 
 do the garden up this afternoon, and she says as 
 how she would like a root of the hen-and-chicken, 
 and I said as how it wasn’t the time for dividing 
 of ’em yet, and there wasn’t enough to divide, but 
 I said as if she would wait until the autumn come, 
 that then she should have a root. But she flew 
 into a tantrum, and said as how she wanted ’em at 
 once, and what should she do but grab them up 
 all of a minute, wrap them in her pinny, and was 
 off down the road afore you could say ‘Jack Robin- 
 
54 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 son.’ I wasn’t going to follow she, and I shouldn’t 
 have minded if it hadn’t been they hen-and- 
 chicken what old Daddy Sykes gave to me, and 
 it was the last thing he gave me, it was,” and Joe 
 howled again. 
 
 Vera looked around. There were evident signs 
 close by where the angry hands had torn up the 
 roots of the hen-and-chicken and scattered the 
 mould over the pebble path. It was a very hard 
 case, no doubt. Joe had been a devoted admirer 
 of old Sykes, and was like a grandson to him. 
 The old man gave him cuttings of his favourite 
 plants, and often proudly declared that he should 
 make a first-rate gardener of Joe in time. There 
 certainly was no garden in the village so well kept 
 as that of Joe, and he had gained the prize at the 
 cottagers’ show for that, and also for several fine 
 varieties of plants. He lived alone with his 
 mother, who was a widow, and he her only child. 
 There were other roots of daisies, double bright 
 red, and some pure white. These, and especially 
 
Mother Bunch goes to see the Fairies. 5 5 
 
 the latter, Vera thought much prettier than the 
 disputed hen-and-chicken, which were a mixture, 
 speckled pink and white. Perhaps Joe prized 
 them so highly, partly because they were the only 
 ones of the kind in the village, and partly because, 
 as he said, they were the last thing the old man 
 had given him. 
 
 Mother Bunch sat upon her milking-stool and 
 thought. Joe felt her sympathy, though it was un¬ 
 spoken, and after a few last sniffs his tears finally 
 dried, and he opened his swollen eyes and looked 
 at her. She had been old Sykes’s favourite too, 
 and Joe was bound to her by their common love 
 for the old man, whose cottage was empty, and 
 who had gone from them to the God Who 
 made him. Mother Bunch was gazing at a root 
 of large double white daisies, but she did not 
 speak. 
 
 “ I’ll never have nothing more to do with she,” 
 said Joe at length. 
 
 Still Mother Bunch said nothing. 
 
56 
 
 Mother Bunch . 
 
 “ And if I see her coming I’ll go another way, 
 that I will.” 
 
 Then Mother Bunch looked straight at Joe. 
 
 “ Poor Polly,” she said softly. 
 
 Joe stared in astonishment. 
 
 “ A nasty, spiteful little cat,” he said, “ and you 
 a-taking of her part. Oh, Miss Vera !” 
 
 Poor Joe ! The whole world was against him 
 if Vera sided with Polly, and Daddy Sykes was 
 gone where no moaning or complaints could reach 
 him. This last straw took from Joe even the com¬ 
 fort of tears. There was nothing but despair be¬ 
 fore him. 
 
 “ She is a very naughty little girl,” said Mother 
 Bunch, gravely—Joe felt better—“but she is very 
 unhappy now.” 
 
 “ No, she ain’t,” said Joe. 
 
 “ How do you know ?” asked Mother Bunch. 
 
 “ ’Cause she’s so wicked.” 
 
 “ But wicked people sometimes are very sorry.” 
 
 “ Polly ain’t,” said Joe. 
 
Mother Bunch goes to see the Fairies. 
 
 57 
 
 “ I am sure she is,” replied Mother Bunch. 
 
 “ How does you know, Miss Vera ?” 
 
 “ Because I should be very unhappy if I was 
 Polly.” 
 
 “ But you is you, Miss Vera, and Polly is Polly,” 
 argued Joe. “ And you ain’t one bit the same.” 
 
 “Yes,” said Mother Bunch in a puzzled voice, 
 “ of course we are different. I could not be Polly 
 and Polly could not be me.” 
 
 “ Then how,” said Joe, triumphantly, “does you 
 know that Polly is unhappy ?” 
 
 “ Because,” said Mother Bunch, thoughtfully, 
 wrinkling her eyebrows like a real old lady, “ even 
 if I am not Polly, I can feel how Polly would feel. 
 I know she is dreadfully unhappy. I cannot tell 
 how I know these things, Joe, but I sit still and 
 think of God,— and then I suppose the angels 
 whisper them. Polly and you were great friends, 
 Joe.” 
 
 “ And a nice way her had of showing it,” sneered 
 Joe. 
 
58 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 “ But everybody is naughty sometimes,” said 
 Mother Bunch, “Aunt Cicely says so. But then 
 we tell God we are sorry, and He is sorry for us, 
 and forgives us.” 
 
 Joe looked down, but answered nothing. Mother 
 Bunch sat and thought, her eyes fixed upon the 
 large root of white daisies. After a while she 
 said, “ Shall I tell you what I think I would do, 
 Joe, if I were you ?” 
 
 Joe brightened, “Go to Polly’s garden and grab 
 the hen-and-chicken back again ?” 
 
 “ No. I think I would take Polly that root of 
 beautiful white daisies as a present” 
 
 Joe opened his mouth, but no words came. 
 
 “ I don’t know why I thought of it,” said Mother 
 Bunch, “ the angels must have whispered it, I sup¬ 
 pose, and if they whispered it, God told them, so 
 it is sure to be right.” 
 
 “The angels is in Heaven,” said Joe stoutly, 
 “ they lives there.” 
 
 “ They are all about the world too,” said Mother 
 
Mother Bunch goes to see the Fairies. 
 
 59 
 
 Bunch, quite as decidedly as Joe. “It is in the 
 Bible ; I learnt it for a text. They are in the world 
 to take care of us. If they did not, we should not 
 be able to walk about; we should fall down and 
 cut ourselves.” 
 
 Joe glanced a little uneasily over one shoulder, 
 then back again at Mother Bunch. 
 
 “ What is the angels like, Miss Vera ?” 
 
 “ Beautiful, and shining, and dressed like the 
 flow r ers, because God dresses them. That is a text 
 too, about God dressing the flowers. And the 
 flowers are beautiful because God dresses them, 
 
 and the angels are lovely too.” 
 
 \ 
 
 “They must be a sight to see if they is anything 
 like the flowers,” said Joe admiringly. “And they 
 re’lly take care on us, Miss Vera?” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ It is very good on ’em,” said Joe, “it must be 
 a powerful lot of trouble.” 
 
 “ And you will do what they whispered about the 
 daisies ?” said Mother Bunch. 
 
6o 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 Joe lifted himself upon his two feet, and looked 
 at the root to which she pointed. 
 
 “ It’s the biggest in the garden,” he said, sweep¬ 
 ing a glance around. 
 
 “Yes,” replied Mother Bunch with satisfaction, 
 “ and the daisies are the largest and the whitest; 
 the angels always like the best.” 
 
 “ Her’ll think I wants to make it up,” objected 
 Joe. 
 
 “ So you do,” said Mother Bunch. 
 
 “ I don’t think I does, Miss Vera,” said Joe, but 
 very feebly. Then he dug his grubby hands deep 
 down in the soft moist mould, and with a sigh as 
 deep, he upheaved the root of daisies, and tucked 
 it under his arm. “ Please will you come with me, 
 Miss Vera?” he said humbly. 
 
 Mother Bunch said “Yes.” It was not many 
 yards to Polly’s cottage, but she was not in the 
 garden. The door was ajar, and they peeped into 
 the tiny kitchen. Polly was there alone ; she turned 
 her back upon them as they entered, but not before 
 
Mother Bunch goes to see the Fairies. 
 
 61 
 
 Mother Bunch’s quick eyes had seen that she was 
 crying. 
 
 “ I’ve brought you a root of white daisies, 
 Polly,” said Joe. “He’s the best and biggest in 
 the garden,”—with a sigh, “ but,” with a deeper 
 sigh and still greater effort, “you’re welcome to 
 him.” 
 
 Polly turned quickly round, the tears streaming 
 down her cheeks. 
 
 “ I doesn’t want the daisies,” she sobbed, 
 “ none of ’em. I’ve been—so—very—unhappy, and 
 I wanted you, Joe.” 
 
 Mother Bunch waited to see Joe drying Polly’s 
 tears with the soiled smock which had dried so 
 many of his own ; then she set off, for she did not 
 want to be late for the fairies. But as she was 
 going, she heard an amiable quarrel between them 
 as to who should have the roots of hen-and-chicken 
 and white daisies ; Joe protesting he didn’t mind 
 anything now they had “ made it up, and she was 
 welcome to ’em all,” and Polly declaring she should 
 
62 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 never abide the sight of them unless they were 
 growing in Joe’s garden. 
 
 Polly had her way, for they soon overtook Mo¬ 
 ther Bunch, each bearing a root of the daisies to be 
 replanted in their former home. They both looked 
 quite happy, but very draggled, for tears and dirt 
 are not an addition to beauty. Joe earnestly begged 
 Miss Vera would wait while he picked her a nose¬ 
 gay of his choicest and best. But Mother Bunch 
 shook her head, she could not stay; Polly dropped 
 her a curtsey down to the ground, perhaps to atone 
 for her bad manners when first they met; while 
 Joe made her a bow, in which respect and admi¬ 
 ration were equally mixed, and Mother Bunch 
 again went on her way. 
 
 She did not want to miss the fairies. “ When the 
 sun is going to bed,” said Sylvia, and the sun had 
 a small piece yet to travel before he drew his 
 beautiful coloured curtains around him, and tucked 
 himself up for the night. She stopped at the bot¬ 
 tom of the hill, for there was old Sykes’s cottage 
 
Mother Bunch goes to see the Fairies . 63 
 
 still unlet, and she had never passed that way, 
 winter or summer, that the old man had not stood 
 at the gate with a ‘ posy’ for her in his trembling 
 hands. Mother Bunch tip-toed and peeped over 
 the gate, thinking regretfully of her old friend, “ His 
 legs were shaky, and he ached all over,” she said 
 out loud, “ but now God has given him two straight 
 legs and he doesn’t ache at alland she toiled up 
 the hill with the image of her old friend, not as she 
 had seen him, but tall, and strong, and painless, 
 filling her mind. 
 
 The Fairies’ Hollow was deserted, except by 
 animal life; only the talking of the merry brook, 
 the splashing of the silver trout, and the ‘ good-night’ 
 song of the birds broke the silence. There were 
 no pic-nic people that day. 
 
 Mother Bunch sat down and waited. There 
 were no signs of the fairies yet, but she did not 
 mind waiting. There was plenty to amuse her, 
 for the animals were not afraid of her, and behaved 
 as if she were not there. A mother rabbit brought 
 
6 4 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 her children out to have a game of play, and they 
 frolicked about Mother Bunch without fear, for 
 she sat quite still and upright upon the grass, 
 admired them very much, but did not attempt to 
 catch them. A little silver trout, whose spirits 
 were too high, overleapt himself, and fell, not into 
 the talkative brook, but upon the green grass, 
 where he lay kicking and panting, until Mother 
 Bunch gently picked him up and put him back 
 into the water again. The grasshoppers bounded 
 into her lap, and knocked against her sun-bonnet; 
 and the little green frogs, who came out for a 
 game of play in the sunset hour, jumped one or 
 two of them upon her hand, and looked at her 
 for full a second with their goggle eyes before 
 they took a header into the soft, mossy grass, and 
 from thence to the weeds which grew by the merry 
 brown brook. 
 
 Mother Bunch was strangely brave and fearless, 
 nothing daunted her. When she could only just 
 walk, she was found one evening in the midst of 
 
Mother Bunch goes to see the Fairies. 65 
 
 the cows, as they were returning from being milked, 
 patting their thin legs with her soft, dimpled hands, 
 and crooing to them in a low voice as she trotted 
 securely among them. Bill and Nancy would 
 shriek and hop off as if they were treading upon hot 
 plates if they only caught sight of a black beetle; 
 while even the elders would pick up their skirts 
 and get hurriedly out of the way,—but Mother 
 Bunch was afraid of nothing. “ Why is you afraid ?” 
 she said when four years old, “ it is only alive.” 
 The animals in return were certainly not afraid 
 of her, and, I think, one of the reasons for this 
 was that she sat so very still. They say that if 
 people cannot sit quite still it is the sign of a 
 shallow mind ; and there was a great man who 
 said he had succeeded in life because when he was 
 a little boy his mother had taught him to sit still, 
 first for a few minutes at a time, until he was able 
 to sit still for half an hour, and so on. 
 
 I do not mean the stillness of when you are 
 reading and writing, but when you are doing no- 
 
 F 
 
66 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 thing, to have the power of repose, and not fidget 
 those who are around you. Mother Bunch needed 
 no teaching, it came naturally to her; but though 
 she sat that evening motionless as a statue, there 
 were no signs of the fairies. She peeped under the 
 big dock-leaves, looked closely at the boughs as 
 they quivered in the evening breeze, yet the fairies 
 did not show themselves, and she watched in vain. 
 She did not give up hope for some time, but gazed 
 at the sun preparing for bed with grave, wide- 
 open eyes, and if the branch of a tree flickered 
 more than usual, she thought it might be a fairy 
 swinging upon it,—but there was none. 
 
 When she could wait no longer, she turned her 
 steps homewards, trying to account for the ab¬ 
 sence of the fairies. Perhaps they were busy; 
 perhaps they had gone to bed earlier; perhaps 
 their mothers wanted them ; perhaps— 
 
 By this time she had arrived at the church, 
 and, as was always her custom, she turned aside 
 into it to say a prayer. She was not alone, for 
 
Mother Bunch goes to see the Fairies. 67 
 
 Crapps, the organist, was practising, and Mother 
 Bunch, who loved music, sat up in her seat, after 
 she had finished her prayer, to listen to it for a 
 few seconds. The music was soft, and so was the 
 light which came through the stained glass win¬ 
 dows. It shone more brightly through those which 
 faced the west, for the sunset tints were still gleam¬ 
 ing radiantly. Upon the window where Mother 
 Bunch’s eyes were fixed, was a figure of S. John, 
 the Apostle of love, his hands uplifted as if to 
 give a blessing. 
 
 “What a beautiful blue dress he has,” she 
 thought, “ and what a kind face!” She remem¬ 
 bered Joe’s question, “What are the angels like?” 
 and she thought they must be like S. John. He 
 was smiling at her,—that was very kind of him, 
 she had,never seen him smile at her before, though 
 she had often looked at him. She smiled at him 
 in return. How large he was growing. Now he 
 was quite tall, and was stepping out of his window 
 and coming towards her. That was kinder still, 
 
68 
 
 Mother Bunch . 
 
 for Mother Bunch had often felt she should like 
 to talk to him. He was holding out his arms, 
 still smiling, and she tried to get up to meet him, 
 but could not move. He was larger and taller, 
 and was coming nearer, nearer to her. His lovely 
 blue robe and shining face were quite close to her; 
 his arms were stretched out to take her into them. 
 Dear, kind S. John! She felt very tired and 
 sleepy,—she would cuddle into his arms, lay her 
 
 head upon his shoulder, and. 
 
 Mother Bunch was fast asleep! 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 J^untfrajj tells tjje Storg. 
 
 MOTHER BUNCH SEES ANGELS INSTEAD OF 
 
 FAIRIES. 
 
 1 \ /T R. Pippo arrived, and we were all out ex¬ 
 cept Mother Bunch and Gordon. It was 
 they who gave him the name of Mr. Pippo, and 
 I do not believe we shall ever call him anything 
 else, for it seems to fit him somehow. 
 
 We asked him if he would mind, and he said, 
 “ Not at all,” he liked it, because it sounded so 
 friendly. He is quite different from Ted, for he 
 is short, and thin, and dark, very shy and nervous, 
 and does not talk much. Ted is tall and fair, 
 
7 o 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 and talks from morning till night, and smokes all 
 day long in the garden. Mr. Pippo does not 
 smoke. 
 
 Mother Bunch, who always has her wits about 
 her, provided him with tea, for he was very thirsty, 
 and when we came in we took him for a walk. 
 It was very up-hill work at first, I never knew 
 anybody so painfully shy, but he was more at his 
 ease when we returned, though he still dragged. 
 It would have taken an age before we really got 
 intimate with him,—for I fancy he is naturally 
 reserved,—if something had not happened the 
 same evening he arrived, which broke the ice, and 
 made him more at home with us. 
 
 When we sat down to tea there were three 
 places empty,—those of Bill, Nancy, and Mother 
 Bunch. When Bill and Nan are late, we are sure 
 they are in mischief, and we shrugged our shoul¬ 
 ders and interchanged glances, as we wondered 
 what they had been doing now. With Mother 
 Bunch the case was different, it was most unusual 
 
Mother Bunch sees A ngels instead of Fairies. 71 
 
 for her to be absent, and Isabel sent to see whether 
 being later than usual, she had had her supper 
 with Gordon, and gone to bed. Phyllis came 
 back and said that Nurse had put Gordon to bed, 
 and gone out; and Elizabeth thought she had 
 taken Miss Vera with her, as her cotton bonnet 
 and walking boots were not in their places. 
 
 “Nurse ought to have brought her back by this 
 time,” said Isabel. 
 
 p 
 
 1 
 
 “And Bill and Nancy ought to learn better man¬ 
 ners,” said Grandfather Sylvester, rather sternly. 
 “ Does any one know where they are ?” 
 
 No one did. Ethelred was the last who had 
 seen them,—about half-past five o’clock in the 
 stables with Pat. 
 
 We felt very uncomfortable as we began our 
 tea. Ten minutes later in came, or rather, in tum¬ 
 bled Bill and Nan. Bill looked like one of those 
 large tawny lilies in the garden, and Nan was the 
 colour of a boiled lobster. Their attempts to tidy 
 themselves had been done in such a hurry, that 
 
72 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 they had better have left it alone altogether. 
 They have so little hair, and the little they have 
 is of such a fluffy nature that it would not be 
 much amiss if they never brushed it; but Nan had 
 pinned on a grand lace thing round her neck, by 
 way of being smart, and had put it on the back 
 part in front. Several pricklyburrs hung about her, 
 and her face was smeared, for she had only half- 
 washed it. Bill had a soiled cuff and a clean one, 
 and a large chalk mark down his jacket, and was 
 dusty about the knees as if he had had a fall, 
 but, upon the whole, he put in a better appearance 
 than Nancy. 
 
 They had both what Ethelred calls their tail- 
 between-the-legs expression, and they sneaked in, 
 each pushing the other to make him or her go first 
 into the room. Mr. Pippo rose, and they were 
 introduced to him, and I saw them start, and dis¬ 
 tinctly heard Nan say to Bill, “ Why he has come.” 
 And Bill answered, “ I wonder how he got here.” 
 
 We were dreadfully ashamed of their manners, 
 
Mother Bunch sees Angels instead of Fairies. 73 
 < 
 
 and I do not know what Mr. Pippo must have 
 thought of them ; for Bill just said very gruffly 
 down in his boots, “ How de do ?” and Nancy held 
 out a red and rather dirty hand, shrugged one 
 shoulder up to the ear and muttered “ De do 
 then they were going to their places when Cousin 
 Constance stopped them. 
 
 Cousin Constance and Isabel are both short¬ 
 sighted, and I had seen Isabel put up her eye-glass 
 and look at Bill and Nan ; then she said something 
 to Cousin Constance, who put up her eye-glass also 
 and looked, and then spoke to them. 
 
 “ Go to your rooms and make yourselves clean 
 and tidy. Come back as soon as you are respect¬ 
 able.” 
 
 They obeyed. When they returned and had 
 taken their places Grandfather Sylvester said, 
 
 “ What made you so late ?” 
 
 They did not answer. Bill nudged Nan ; but 
 she only hung her head and went on eating very 
 fast. 
 
7 4 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 “ What made you so late ?” repeated Grandfather 
 Sylvester. 
 
 They knew by Grandfather’s tone that he meant 
 to have an answer, so Bill after a hopeless look at 
 Nan, who would not raise her eye from her plate, 
 said, 
 
 “ We went to the station to meet Mr. Stevens.” 
 
 “ That was very thoughtful of you,” said Grand¬ 
 father Sylvester. “ But you know that I usually 
 go to the station to meet my own guests.” 
 
 Nancy grew redder, if that were possible, when 
 she was as red almost as she could be, and she 
 murmured something about “ wanting to see Mr. 
 Stevens.” 
 
 “ Ah, that was it; curiosity is at the bottom of 
 a great deal of mischief. But when the train ar¬ 
 rived without Mr. Stevens why did you not return 
 home at once ?” said Grandfather Sylvester. 
 
 Both hung their heads. 
 
 “ We took Pat,” said Bill, in a mild voice. 
 
 Our tongues were unloosed at this : we had never 
 
Mother Bunch sees Angels instead of Fairies. 75 
 
 dreamt that even Bill and Nan could be so in¬ 
 sane as to take Pat to the station, and a regular 
 chatter arose ; we forgot Mr. Pippo in our excite¬ 
 ment. 
 
 “ Fancy taking Pat to the station 1 ” said one. 
 
 “ I wonder what mischief he has been in now,” 
 said another. 
 
 “ Yes, of all places the station !” said a third. 
 
 “ Has he been unpicking any more bonnets ?” 
 asked Ethelred. 
 
 “ n— osaid Bill, looking at Nancy to help him, 
 and giving her such a nudge that he nearly pushed 
 her off her chair. 
 
 “ He only,” said Nancy meekly, plaiting the end 
 of the tablecloth into a pattern, “ ate up the station- 
 master’s shoes.” 
 
 We could not help laughing; even Grandfather 
 Sylvester smiled, underneath his moustache. 
 
 " I hope he will find them digestible,” said Ethel- 
 red. “ At any rate they are a tougher morsel 
 than Cook’s bonnet, for Pratt is a big man. Nearly 
 
76 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 as tall as Grandfather Sylvester and much bigger— 
 broader, I mean.” 
 
 “ I don’t believe he did eat them,” said Gay de¬ 
 cidedly. Gay has got what we call a “ habit of 
 
 unbelief.” He thinks it his duty to protest occa¬ 
 sionally. 
 
 Bit by bit we dragged the whole story from them 
 though they were most unwilling to tell it. They 
 were so anxious to see Mr. Pippo that when they 
 returned from their walk with Cousin Constance, 
 instead of coming into the house, where they would 
 have found he had already arrived, they went 
 straight to the stables, fetched Pat and marched 
 off with him to the station. There is nothing Bill 
 and Nan like so well as hanging about the station, 
 and they were exceedingly happy until they missed 
 Pat from their side and saw him careering up and 
 down the line. An express train was due, and a 
 porter saved him only just in time, or he would 
 certainly have been cut in two. Pratt, the station- 
 master, came up, and when he found they were 
 
Mother Bunch sees Angels instead of Fairies. 77 
 
 waiting for a train that was not due for another 
 hour, and that they had no leash in which to hold 
 Pat, he suggested that they should shut him up 
 in his little sitting-room as the safest way of keep¬ 
 ing him out of mischief. 
 
 Bill and Nan consented, and Pat was left lying 
 comfortably and contentedly stretched out upon 
 the hearth-rug. When the train arrived and no 
 Mr. Pippo in it they went to fetch Pat, and found 
 him quietly finishing the last slipper ; a few shreds 
 strewn about were all that remained of Pratt’s pair 
 of carpet slippers. They offered to buy another 
 pair—so they said—but we all agreed we had no 
 doubt that the offer was made in an I-hope-you- 
 won’t-accept-it voice. Pratt was very kind, would 
 not hear of their buying another pair of slippers ; 
 said that those Pat had eaten were rather old and 
 shabby, and it would be a real excuse for him to 
 treat himself to a new pair, as he could not go 
 without. I think Pratt is one of “ Nature’s gentle¬ 
 men.” 
 
78 
 
 Mother Bunch . 
 
 Upon the road home Pat had.seized a hat off 
 a little girl’s head, and it was the chase he led 
 them after this hat that had made them so hot 
 and late. 
 
 u I wish Colonel Gordon had not given you Pat,” 
 said Grandfather Sylvester. “ He is a fine animal, 
 and you will ruin him. But as you are so thought¬ 
 less, and might risk your lives at the station, I 
 must make a rule that you' go there neither with 
 nor without Pat, unless one of us accompany you. 
 If you disobey I shall take Pat from you and give 
 him to Ethelred or Humfray.” 
 
 This thoroughly aroused them, and they pro¬ 
 mised with the greatest earnestness that they 
 would obey. Just then Frederick opened the door 
 in his Jack-in-the-box fashion : he quite forgot to 
 be shy in his anxiety to speak, and his words flew 
 out as if they came from a catapult. 
 
 “ Please, sir, Nurse have come in this very 
 minute, and she have not seen Miss Vera since 
 four o’clock this afternoon.” 
 
Mother Bunch sees Angels instead of Fairies. 79 
 
 We were very much alarmed, though when we 
 talked it over, we did not see that there was any 
 cause for fear. Mother Bunch is not like the twins, 
 she is as steady as a real old lady, and would not 
 dream of getting into mischief. Everybody in the 
 village knows her, and would not hurt a hair of 
 her head. Gipsies and tramps were the only dan¬ 
 ger we could imagine; we have not seen a gipsy 
 so far as we can remember, and tramps are very 
 few, and those only ordinary poor men who beg 
 for a meal, not fierce and rough as we read of 
 them in books. And we could not for a moment 
 fancy that one of these could carry away our 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 We started to search for her at once, dispers¬ 
 ing in various directions. We left Isabel in a 
 terrible state; she was crying, and sobbing, and 
 wringing her hands, and saying she was always 
 sure some harm would happen to the child. 
 Cousin Constance stayed with her until she was 
 quieter. 
 
8o 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 No sooner had the news spread than the whole 
 village turned out to help us look for Mother 
 Bunch ; each felt in a way that she belonged to 
 him or her, they were all so fond of her. Now the 
 anxiety is over I cannot help laughing at the 
 remembrance. 
 
 People at Cool-Dillay get up so early for 
 their work that they go to rest with the birds. 
 A great many of them were already in bed, and in 
 their haste to come to our assistance they turned 
 out in every manner of guise or disguise. Some 
 had forgotten to take off their nightcaps, others 
 waited only to put on part of their clothes and 
 wrapped themselves in blankets, and great coats, 
 and shawls. It was not dark but dusky, the 
 twilight which lingers long, but is, as Grandfather 
 Sylvester says, a “ bewildering light.” Torches 
 were therefore made and lighted, and while this 
 was being done we found that Joe Baker was the 
 last who had seen Mother Bunch. Joe said she 
 left their cottage near upon seven, as he judged 
 
Mother Bunch sees Angels instead of Fairies. 81 
 
 from the sun, and she made as if for the Fairies’ 
 Hollow. 
 
 Isabel’s crying fit was over, and she joined us 
 with Cousin Constance. Isabel was quiet, but 
 looked like a ghost; I never saw anybody so white, 
 as the light from the torches fell upon her. The 
 whole procession,—we counted afterwards there 
 must have been nearly a hundred of us, men, 
 women, and children,—went off at full speed for 
 the Fairies’ Hollow. The trees looked blackly 
 black in the depth of the Hollow, and the stream 
 a dead white,—it is really rather brown,—as the 
 light from the red torches glared over every¬ 
 thing. 
 
 There was an intense silence, no one spoke, as 
 we looked anxiously about, for we thought Mother 
 Bunch might have been tired, and staying to rest 
 here, might have fallen asleep. A little bird 
 awakened by the light began to sing; then, finding 
 he had made a mistake, stopped as suddenly as he 
 had begun. 
 
 G 
 
82 
 
 Mother Bunch . 
 
 “ She is not here,” said Grandfather Sylvester; 
 then there was silence, for we did not know what 
 to do next Little Polly Beaver broke the silence 
 by a burst of tears ; this started Isabel, who began 
 to cry again, and I really think the whole of us 
 would have followed, crying is so catching, if 
 mother had not suddenly said brightly and cheer¬ 
 fully, and oh! how grateful we were to her for 
 saying it, 
 
 “ I do believe the dear child may have fallen 
 asleep in the church; she is so fond of going 
 into it.” 
 
 What a shout there was at the suggestion ! It 
 must have been heard a mile away; everybody 
 turned to try who could be first for the key of the 
 church. The poor old rector was last; he was old 
 and lame from the gout, and he ought not to have 
 been out in the search, but Mother Bunch was his 
 favourite parishioner, and he could not rest in the 
 house when he found she was missing. 
 
 Ethelred outran us and got the key first, but 
 
PAGE 83. 
 
Mother Bunch sees Angels instead of Fairies. 83 
 
 after unlocking the door we waited for Isabel. 
 Only one man, Frederick, went in with the torch, 
 then Isabel, and then some of us crept in softly 
 after her, I amongst the number. There we saw 
 Mother Bunch, curled in a corner of one of the 
 low oak seats, sleeping quite as peacefully as if she 
 lay in her own little bed at home. 
 
 Isabel caught her up in her arms and bore her 
 out into the air. There was again such a shout as 
 everybody pressed round to catch a glimpse of 
 her. 
 
 She opened her eyes and smiled as she saw the 
 well-known faces around her, but she was not in 
 the least astonished or alarmed. 
 
 “ I was asleep in the church,” she said, “ and I 
 awoke and it was very dark, and then the angels 
 came.” 
 
 This was one of those queer things that Mother 
 Bunch always says, and after she had said it she 
 turned her head and went soundly asleep again. 
 She was too heavy for Isabel who is very delicate, 
 
8 4 
 
 Mother Bunch, 
 
 so Grandfather Sylvester carried her home. He 
 would trust her to no one but himself, he said, 
 though Ethelred and I both asked to be allowed 
 to carry her. She was so sound asleep that she 
 did not awake again, not even when she was un¬ 
 dressed and put into bed. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 J^umfrag tells tlje JStorg. 
 
 MOTHER BUNCH’S FIRST ATTEMPT AT 
 GARDENING. 
 
 /'E were all very tired the day after our ad- 
 ’ * venture, but not Mother Bunch herself. 
 She did not seem to remember much about it; 
 except that the angels came. However, we found 
 out why she had gone at that time of day to the 
 Fairies’ Hollow. Sylvia had answered a question at 
 random, and told her the fairies came out at sunset. 
 As Mother Bunch always believes everything she 
 is told, she had gone to the Fairies’ Hollow at that 
 particular hour in order to see the fairies themselves. 
 
86 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 But “ she saw angels instead of fairies,” Grandfather 
 Sylvester said. 
 
 Ted ran down from Saturday to Monday, and 
 heard of our torchlight expedition, and wished, 
 with all his heart, that he had been with us. He 
 told us, privately, the reason poor Mr. Pippo is so 
 sad and depressed. Since his father’s death he has 
 had nothing to live upon except what he earns by 
 selling his pictures, and sometimes he is very un¬ 
 successful, and has really not enough money to buy 
 himself sufficient food and clothes. And Ted says 
 he is proud, and there is no way of helping him. 
 We felt dreadfully sorry, and tried to persuade Mr. 
 Pippo to pay us a long visit, but he shook his head, 
 and said he could not afford the time, however much 
 he would like it, but that he must go back to work. 
 Since Ted left though, a very happy idea struck 
 him, and we are all so delighted about it. I do not 
 remember if I explained that we are a very com¬ 
 mon-place family. We are none of us famous for 
 anything: not one of us is beautiful, indeed some 
 
Mother Bunch's first attempt at Gardening. 87 
 
 of us are undeniably plain : none of us are clever, 
 or gifted, or geniuses, or in fact anything but very 
 ordinary. But Mr. Pippo has been struck by what 
 Grandfather Sylvester calls the two extremes, the 
 good one, and the scaramouch—Mother Bunch and 
 Pat! He thinks Pat’s colour so uncommon, and 
 indeed it is. He is a brilliant red ; something the 
 colour of the sun when he is setting—a ball of 
 fire. And then Mr. Pippo admires Mother Bunch. 
 He says it is so rare to see such a grave, earnest, 
 steadfast look in a child so young, and he wants 
 Isabel to let her sit for her picture, and Pat is to be 
 in it also. He told us, getting very red and shy 
 over it, that he has been trying for the last four 
 years to get a picture into the Royal Academy, but 
 that each year they have been rejected, and now 
 he wants to make a picture of Pat and Mother 
 Bunch, and to try again for the last time. He has 
 made it up in his mind already. Mother Bunch is 
 to be sitting upon the floor with Pat lying at her 
 feet. She is to be holding up her^finger at him, 
 
88 
 
 Mother Bunch . 
 
 and Pat is to look very sorry, and Mother Bunch 
 is supposed to be saying, “ Who stole the cake ?” 
 
 Of course Isabel said ‘yes,’ she was only too 
 glad Mr. Pippo should paint Vera if it would be 
 any help to him, and of course Bill and Nan were 
 up in the skies about Pat. They strutted about 
 with such a consequential air, that Grandfather 
 Sylvester said that they reminded him of a couple 
 of Bantams. This was the beginning of Pat’s in¬ 
 troduction to the house. Now he is in and out 
 whenever he pleases, and no one objects. Indeed 
 I suppose every one imagines that Mr. Pippo wants 
 him, and we are all fond of Pat, so we like to have 
 him about the house to pet and make much of. 
 
 Now we have Mr. Pippo for a month for certain. 
 He went away to London to fetch his canvas and 
 other materials, and has settled down to work. 
 Mother Bunch sat at once just as he wanted her, and 
 as still as if she had been really a picture and not 
 a living child : and there was the very expression 
 he wanted in her face. But Pat! He is better with 
 
Mother Bunchs first attempt at Gardening. 89 
 
 Mother Bunch than with anybody else, but Bill 
 and Nan have spoilt him dreadfully, and it is hard 
 to coax him into anything like stillness. They 
 have to take him for a very long walk before each 
 sitting, then he is so dusty, that he has to be well 
 brushed and rubbed ; by this time he is somewhat 
 tired and depressed, and he is rather glad to stretch 
 himself at Mother Bunch’s feet, and lie still. His 
 expression of penitence and remorse Mr. Pippo 
 will have to imagine, for Pat never looks anything 
 but stupidly, provokingly happy and delighted. 
 
 Another odd thing happened yesterday, that is 
 why I am writing this chapter. It was such a very 
 odd thing that we have not got over it yet, and 
 when I awoke this morning I thought for the first 
 minute or two that it was a dream and not a 
 reality. The Lady’s Walk is a raised terrace just 
 underneath the kitchen garden wall : there are 
 fous or five steps cut out of the earth, then a little 
 wicket-gate, and then you enter upon a broad 
 gravel path with a strip of ground bordered with 
 
90 
 
 Mother Bunch . 
 
 box upon the left-hand side close under the garden 
 wall. This is the piece Grandfather Sylvester has 
 given to Mother Bunch : she has it all to herself, 
 for our gardens are down by the shrubbery quite 
 in another direction. What with one interruption 
 and another, for sitting to Mr. Pippo absorbs a good 
 deal of time, Mother Bunch has been so occupied 
 that she did not take possession of her garden until 
 yesterday. 
 
 Then she asked Roger, the “odd boy,” to help 
 her : we call him that because he does all sorts of 
 odds and ends—anything that is wanted, in fact, 
 but he has no more notion of gardening than a 
 bumble bee, and is about as clumsy. His one idea 
 is to dig as deep as he can, and to scatter the 
 earth all over the place. Any of us would have 
 done it for Mother Bunch with the greatest plea¬ 
 sure, but she wanted Roger ; I fancy because she 
 knew how happy it would make him; and they 
 set off for the Lady’s Walk, Roger with a delighted 
 face shouldering the biggest spade he could find, 
 
Mother Bunchs first attempt at Gardening. 91 
 
 and Vera with a trowel and a basket full of cut¬ 
 tings and plants which we had given her. 
 
 Ethelred and I sauntered in, in the course of 
 the morning, to see how matters were progressing, 
 and we found it was just what we had thought— 
 the earth dug up very deep, scattered all over the 
 walk; Roger, very hot and dirty, digging deeper 
 still, Mother Bunch the picture of patience stand¬ 
 ing by, her basket and trowel at her feet. 
 
 “Hullo,” called out Ethelred, “you are pegging 
 away at a fine rate. Not quite so hard, young 
 man, if you please, Miss Vera does not want you 
 to go to the centre of the earth.” 
 
 Roger rested for a moment, hot and panting. 
 
 “ It’s a verra hard loomp, sir, that I can’t break 
 no how,” he said, and gave such a determined dig 
 that he nearly broke his wrist, and snapped the 
 spade where the wooden part joins the iron. 
 
 “ It’s the verra hardest loomp of mould I ever 
 come across,” he said. “ Miss Vee-ra, I must go 
 fetch another spade.” 
 
92 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 “ Did it never occur to you, Roger,” said Ethel- 
 red, “that the lump may be something harder 
 than earth ? If you look you may find you are 
 fighting against a stone.” 
 
 The idea being put into Roger’s head, he leaned 
 over the deep, deep hole he had made, and felt 
 about it with his hand. 
 
 “ You’re about right, Mr. Ethelred,” he said 
 with a chuckle, “ it’s a stone, and a cold one,” and 
 then he pulled out not, as he thought, a stone, but 
 a small iron box with bands of iron across it, the 
 sight of which made Ethelred and myself press 
 forward. 
 
 Roger looked hopelessly at Mother Bunch. “ It’s 
 never a stone arter all, Miss Vee-ra. It’s a 
 box.” 
 
 “ Will it open ?” asked Mother Bunch quietly, 
 as if it was an every-day occurrence to have iron 
 boxes dug up in gardens. 
 
 “ It’s done up as tight as a hedgehog, Miss 
 Vee-ra,” said Roger. 
 
Mother Bunchs first attempt at Gardening. 93 
 
 “ We must take it to Grandfather Sylvester,” 
 said Ethelred and I together ; and we took the 
 box from Roger and carried it to him at once; 
 guessing upon the road every possible thing it 
 could be, and being so stupid that we never once 
 guessed right; we were not even “ warm,” as we 
 said afterwards. 
 
 Grandfather Sylvester was quite as much as¬ 
 tonished and excited over it, as we were. He said 
 it must be opened in the presence of all of us; so 
 we collected the family in Grandfather’s room, 
 Mr. Pippo among them : he was not one of the 
 family, but we did not wish to leave him out. 
 
 Grandfather Sylvester fetched some tools, and 
 began to force the lock; we waited in breathless 
 silence, wondering what could be in the box, Bill 
 and Nan nearly in Grandfather’s pockets with 
 eagerness and curiosity. Gordon was the only one 
 who spoke ; he had climbed into an arm-chair, and 
 knelt upon the cushions, thumping his tiny, closed 
 fists upon the table and calling out, 
 
94 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 “ Open it kick, Grandfather Sylvester, please 
 open it kick.” 
 
 The iron was rusty and resisted the tools for 
 some time. 
 
 “ Kick, Grandfather Sylvester, please be kick,” 
 said Gordon again. 
 
 “ I am as quick as I can be, Gordon,” said 
 Grandfather Sylvester, “ and please do not drum 
 upon the table.” 
 
 Gordon leant upon his elbows, and got as close 
 as he could. 
 
 The lock was forced at last. Inside the iron box 
 lay a small morocco case : Grandfather Sylvester 
 opened it and turned it so that we could all see: 
 the satin lining was yellow with age, and upon it 
 rested a ring—a plain thick gold band with a large 
 sapphire set clear and surrounded with a circle of 
 tiny diamonds. Before we could speak Grand¬ 
 father Sylvester took up the ring and read the 
 motto engraven inside it— 
 
 “ Le jour viendra.” 
 
 “ The day will come.” 
 
Mother Buncos first attempt at Gardening . 95 
 
 “ The Lady’s ring,” we all exclaimed. 
 
 “ We score. Cousin Ted is nowhere—the sceptic,” 
 said Gay triumphantly. 
 
 There was a buzz of excitement and talking— 
 the ring passing from hand to hand. Grandfather 
 Sylvester leaned back in his chair looking quite 
 delighted, as indeed he was. He takes great in¬ 
 terest in that story of the first Humfray and Phyllis, 
 and has always been vexed that the ring was miss¬ 
 ing and could not be found. We wondered how 
 it was it came to be there, and we concluded that 
 Humfray having outlived Phyllis—as we could 
 tell from the date upon the monument,—had 
 buried it in the Lady’s Walk with his own hands; 
 though why he did not give it to one of his chil¬ 
 dren was a puzzle to us, and one we could not un¬ 
 ravel. 
 
 “What idiots we were never to have guessed 
 what it was,” said Ethelred; “ we are witless 
 creatures.” 
 
 “ Speak for yourself,” said Gay, “ Pm off to write 
 
96 
 
 Mother Bunch . 
 
 at once to Ted. I shall like having the whip-hand 
 over him for once.” 
 
 “ Roger dug it up,” said Mother Bunch. 
 
 We all laughed at the reminder, and I said, 
 “Well, Mother Bunch, we will not abuse Roger’s 
 digging any more.” 
 
 “ It was good digging if it dug up a box,” she 
 answered. 
 
 That is another thing about Mother Bunch, 
 she clings to her point as a limpet clings to a rock. 
 Grandfather Sylvester gave her a shilling to give 
 to Roger; it is riches to him, and he is so happy 
 over it, that I am afraid he will think it is his 
 vocation to dig as deeply as he can, upon the 
 chance of lighting upon more boxes, or other 
 hidden treasures. 
 
 Mr. Pippo left to-day to buy some things he 
 requires in London for his painting. He returns 
 in a day or two. While we were standing at the 
 hall door wishing him a pleasant journey, Gordon 
 rushed in from the garden, and threw himself upon 
 
Mother Bunchs first attempt at Gardening . 97 
 
 Grandfather Sylvester’s legs, which are as far as 
 he can reach. 
 
 “Grandfather Sylvester,” he panted, “ask Mr. 
 Pippo to turn again. Ask him to turn and ’tay 
 again.” 
 
 “ He is coming back in a day or two, my boy,” 
 said Grandfather, and Gordon rushed at Mr. 
 Pippo. 
 
 “ Now don’t you forget,” he said; “ now mind 
 you do not forget.” 
 
 “ What ?” asked Mr. Pippo, “ What do you 
 wish me to remember ?” 
 
 “ Has you forgot a’ready ?” said Gordon, in a 
 voice of reproof. “Why, your welwet coat, and 
 your welwet waistcoat, and your yellow ’tockings, 
 and your welwet knee-breeches tied with yellow 
 ribbon, and your tunflower.” 
 
 Poor Mr. Pippo! all his shyness returned as 
 Gordon gave out the list, as if he was reading an 
 account of Mr. Pippo’s wardrobe. 
 
 “We will watch for you from dee nursery win- 
 
 II 
 
98 
 
 Mother Biinch. 
 
 dow,” continued Gordon. “ Vera and me. Do not 
 forget this time, Mr. Pippo, please.” 
 
 Then Mr. Pippo explained, stammering over it, 
 that it was some nonsense of Ted’s, and he had 
 forgotten, but it seems Gordon had not. 
 
 Grandfather Sylvester laughed. 
 
 “You will increase the weight of Mr. Pippo’s 
 luggage with, all that finery, Gordon,” he said. 
 And then to Mr. Pippo, “You must not let the 
 boy tax your good-nature.” 
 
 “Oh, I’ll bring it with pleasure,” said Mr. Pippo, 
 eagerly. “ If you will not think it odd if I put 
 it on some evening to please him, and to show 
 the children.” 
 
 Phyllis and Sylvia declared they were quite as 
 anxious to see a fancy dress as ever the children 
 were, and we quite believed them. It was ex¬ 
 plained to Gordon that he need not spend his time 
 at the nursery window, for the “ pretty dress,” as 
 Mother Bunch called it, would arrive in a box, and 
 not upon Mr. Pippo, and Gordon went off content. 
 
Mother BuncJis first attempt at Gardening . 99 
 
 “ The welvvet would ’poll if it got dusty in the 
 train,” we heard him explain to Vera, “but if he 
 wears it in the evening it will be just the 
 same.” 
 
 “Yes,” replied Mother Bunch, “just the same.” 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 I^umfrag tells tfjc JStorg. 
 
 “ MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLY.” 
 r E are in what Cook calls a “peck of troubles,” 
 
 and ours is more than a peck, I am sure, 
 
 and gets fuller. I do not remember when we have 
 had such a bad time as we are having now. Out¬ 
 side, too, it is beautiful, what Grandfather Syl¬ 
 vester says is “ an old-fashioned summer,” but we 
 cannot enjoy it. On the contrary, we feel it is 
 unkind of the sun to shine so brightly, and the 
 birds to sing so cheerfully when we are depressed 
 and anxious and nearer to tears than laughter. 
 
 To tell about them I must go back. Mr. Pippo 
 
“ Misfortunes never come singly ” 
 
 IOI 
 
 stayed a month ; he worked very hard all the time 
 he was here, and thinks now he can manage with¬ 
 out his models. He has a coloured photograph of 
 Mother Bunch, and a curl of Pat’s red hair, and if 
 he forgets anything he knows he can always run 
 down for a day or two ; we are quite ready to give 
 him a welcome. I believe he was really fatter 
 when he left, at any rate, as Ethelred said, “you 
 couldn’t quite see through him.” 
 
 It was after he had gone that our troubles be¬ 
 gan, and they commenced with Sylvia. One after¬ 
 noon a lady, a great friend of Cousin Constance’s, 
 came to call. She is very nice, but she has a 
 funny, rather affected way, at least it seems af¬ 
 fected to us, of lifting up her hands and saying, 
 “ Oh, dear me,” or “ You don’t say so !” She does 
 it very often, and Sylvia, who was in the room 
 when she was calling, imitated her after she had 
 taken her leave. Grandfather Sylvester overheard 
 her, and was more angry than ever I have known 
 him before. Sylvia had such a scolding, and was 
 
102 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 fairly terrified. Grandfather Sylvester told her that 
 it was a most unchristian and unladylike action ; 
 that boys or girls who indulged in the habit of 
 mimicking others never failed to grow up spiteful, 
 uncharitable, a terror to their neighbours, and dis¬ 
 liked by all who came across their path. He 
 pointed out that there was much, even in the best 
 of us, that others might laugh at, if they were so 
 inclined. He reminded her of the lines, 
 
 “ Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us, 
 
 To see oursel’s as others see us.” 
 
 He said too that Sylvia ought to take a higher 
 view of the matter, and to remember that by “ like¬ 
 ness we draw near to God, by unlikeness we de¬ 
 part from Him,” and that by giving way to the 
 unkind habit of mimicking others we are most 
 unlike our Lord, and set a barrier between our¬ 
 selves and Him. He gave her as a punishment 
 not to have tea with us for a whole week. We 
 were all of us present during Sylvia’s scolding, and 
 after she had left the room he told us the reason 
 
“ Misfortunes never come singly .” 
 
 103 
 
 he had spoken so strongly to her was, that he saw 
 she had a natural cleverness for imitating people. 
 To many there would not be the same temptation 
 as there was to her, as it is not everybody who has 
 a talent for mimicking. I do not think any of the 
 rest of us have, but we have often been amused at 
 Sylvia, and laughed at her, and encouraged her, 
 for which we also got a scolding, as we told Grand¬ 
 father Sylvester that it was a great deal our fault. 
 It amused us, and therefore we encouraged her. 
 Grandfather Sylvester spoke with great emphasis 
 when he said it was a most wicked habit, and one 
 against which, as a Christian and a gentleman, he 
 found himself bound to protest with all his heart. 
 We shall none of us ever forget what he said, 
 nor will Sylvia ever attempt, nor we urge her, to 
 mimic anybody again. 
 
 We were dreadfully sorry for her punishment, 
 and felt it, I believe, almost as much as she did. 
 She is a favourite with us, for she is so kind and 
 obliging, always sewing our buttons on our gloves, 
 
104 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 mending our socks, or helping us in any way she 
 can. And the week of her solitary tea seemed as 
 if it would never pass; we hated ourselves for 
 laughing, when we remembered how easily our 
 voices could be heard in the schoolroom. 
 
 That was trouble No. i. Trouble No. 2 might 
 have been laughable, and I do not suppose we 
 should have reckoned it as a trouble if it had not 
 come at a time when everything seemed destined 
 to go wrong. It was Bill and Nan this time, and 
 I am afraid if their scrape had not affected us we 
 should not have thought much about it. It is so 
 natural for them to get into mischief that, except¬ 
 ing that we tease them and try to sit upon them, 
 we take it as a matter of course. 
 
 Across the road opposite to our grounds is our 
 Home Field. One day Grandfather Sylvester told 
 Bill and Nan to be sure to remember not to take 
 Pat into it for the next fortnight, as he had lent it 
 to Farmer Bell for his sheep to graze in it for that 
 time. Unfortunately the Home Field is a short 
 
" Misfortunes never come singly” 
 
 105 
 
 cut to several places, and Bill and Nan returning 
 from a walk, and fearing they were late for tea, 
 turned into it, forgetting what Grandfather Sylvester 
 had said. They saw the sheep and remembered, 
 but it was too late, Pat was all over the field, bit¬ 
 ing the heels of one sheep, barking at another, scam¬ 
 pering after a third, and so on, Bill and Nan rush¬ 
 ing frantically after him, calling upon him, implor¬ 
 ing him, entreating him to desist. They could not 
 get him to heel until he had worried a poor sheep 
 so badly that it had to be killed. Grandfather 
 Sylvester paid Farmer Bell the full price for it, 
 and said the schoolroom party were to have it for 
 dinner until it was eaten. 
 
 We never knew there could be the amount of 
 meat in any animal that there was in that sheep. 
 We had to eat the whole of it,—head, legs, 
 shoulders, and tail,—no, I do not fancy we had the 
 tail, unless it was done up in a disguised way and 
 did not look like a tail. Cook was very kind. She 
 did her best to make the sheep better for us by 
 
io 6 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 cooking it in different ways ; it was fricasseed, 
 roasted, boiled, stewed, hashed, minced, made into 
 broth, fried with egg, and broiled. But no altera¬ 
 tion of cooking could make it anything but mut¬ 
 ton, and we none of us like mutton, indeed Bill 
 and Nan positively dislike it. We bore it very 
 patiently until one day when the fourth leg ap¬ 
 peared. Nan burst into tears and declared she 
 was sure Cook was cheating, and that that was the 
 fifth leg we had had, while Bill took her part and 
 said he was positive no sheep could have such a 
 quantity of meat in it. Then we turned upon 
 them, the whole of us except Mother Bunch and 
 Gordon, and reminded them plainly that it was for 
 their fault we were suffering. They were more 
 subdued after that and we heard no more grumbles. 
 Our dinners,—until we saw the last of the mutton 
 —were eaten in gloomy silence. Then, when Cook 
 assured us it was really gone, a deputation waited 
 upon mother, who is housekeeper, to beg the 
 school party might live upon vegetables, and fruit, 
 
“ Misfortunes never come singly .” 
 
 107 
 
 and pudding. Mother laughed, and said the 
 weather was so warm and vegetable diet would not 
 hurt us, and she gave orders to Cook that we 
 were to be vegetarians until she told her to the 
 contrary. 
 
 A good result however followed from that un¬ 
 fortunate sheep : and I believe it was the lesson 
 Grandfather Sylvester meant we should learn. We 
 began to realise that Bill and Nan were part of 
 ourselves ; that we were in a measure responsible 
 for them ; instead of laughing at them and teasing 
 them, we began to watch to see if we could not 
 prevent some of their scrapes by reminding them. 
 We saved them from several in this manner, but 
 they did not like being looked after, nor did we 
 receive any gratitude for our attentions. 
 
 Trouble 3 is much more important, for it has 
 not ceased yet, and it is causing a great deal of 
 anxiety and worry. The ring that was found in 
 the Lady’s Walk was kept in Grandfather Syl¬ 
 vester’s study—lying in the day-time upon his 
 
io8 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 writing-table in its morocco case, the lid open, on 
 a stand which has been made for it : many people 
 have seen it and have been interested in hearing 
 the story and how oddly it was found. 
 
 One morning Sylvia was not very well, and she 
 went to sit in the large arm-chair in Grandfather 
 Sylvester’s study. After lessons were over Phyllis 
 followed to ask if she was better, and standing talk¬ 
 ing to Grandfather, she took up the ring and tried 
 it upon her third finger. It would not go upon 
 any but the little finger, and for that it was rather 
 large. Grandfather told her she had not so small 
 a hand as her namesake, and Phyllis asked if she 
 might wear it for a while, as she was going to stay 
 with Sylvia. Grandfather Sylvester said ‘ yes,’ but 
 that she must be sure to return it to its case. 
 Just then Frederick went in to ask if Ikkey might 
 speak to Grandfather. Grandfather said he was 
 to be shown into the study; Phyllis left the 
 writing-table and went to Sylvia’s arm-chair to 
 ask her if she was well enough to hold some 
 
“ Misfortunes never come singly 
 
 109 
 
 worsted for her while she wound it. Sylvia held 
 the worsted, and the two girls talked together 
 while Grandfather Sylvester did his business with 
 Ikkey. 
 
 About the remainder nothing seems very clear. 
 When the winding was finished there was a cry in 
 the hall that Bill and Nancy had found a tiny cub, 
 and Phyllis and Sylvia ran out to see. When they 
 returned Ikkey was alone in the study, Grandfather 
 Sylvester having gone to fetch something. Sylvia 
 sat down again in the large arm-chair—the inva¬ 
 lid’s arm-chair—a voice called Phyllis, and she put 
 out her right hand to slip the ring from the finger 
 of her left and replace it in its case—when she 
 found no ring was there. 
 
 Of course Phyllis was in great distress, but— 
 excepting that mother scolded her for having worn 
 the ring—we none of us fretted much over the 
 loss : Phyllis had only gone from the study to the 
 hall, and we thought the ring could not be far off, 
 and all of us set to work to hunt for it. 
 
110 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 Matters grew more serious when the ring did not 
 appear. Every crevice and crack was thoroughly 
 searched ; the study and hall both turned out, 
 every article of furniture moved ; there is very 
 little in Grandfather Sylvester’s study, for he likes 
 space to walk up and down and meditate. There 
 is no carpet, only a few rugs, for the floor is oak, 
 and these have been so thoroughly shaken and 
 felt over that we have almost pulled them to pieces : 
 the shining of the diamonds might have helped us, 
 but no glimmer or shine have we seen—a few 
 pins and one threepenny bit, and that has been all. 
 The hall is more bare of furniture than the study, 
 and that too has undergone a thorough examina¬ 
 tion, I do not believe there is a crack which has 
 escaped our eyes. If Pat had not been safe in 
 the stables I believe we should have accused him 
 of having swallowed it. 
 
 That stupid Ikkey too must needs take it into 
 his head that suspicion rests upon him. He was 
 left alone in the study for about two minutes, and 
 
“ Misfortunes never come singly .” 
 
 111 
 
 he declares the blame must rest upon him of hav¬ 
 ing, in that time, seen the ring lying upon the 
 floor and picking it up ; until the ring is found he 
 says his character can’t be cleared. We have 
 known Ikkey all our lives, and would as soon think 
 that we should do such a thing as Ikkey ! It is 
 no use telling him so however—the idea is in his 
 head and won’t leave it. 
 
 Trouble No. 4 is the last trouble, at present, 
 and the worst. Dear Grandfather Sylvester is 
 really ill—too ill to be with us, and our merry 
 evening meal is now as gloomy as the sheep- 
 dinners. We have lost heart. The elders think it 
 is the trouble of the ring which prevents him from 
 getting better—not the loss of the ring, but he is 
 so sorry for Ikkey. Phyllis is quite unhappy, and 
 we are too depressed ourselves to cheer her in any 
 way. We feel as if dark clouds were gathering over 
 us in spite of the out-door sunshine. I wish they 
 would roll away, but the only cheering comes from 
 Grandfather Sylvester himself. We are allowed to 
 
112 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 go by turns into his bedroom, to sit with him for a 
 few minutes each day, and he tells us we must 
 wait patiently and remember the motto of the 
 missing ring, 
 
 “ The day will coined 
 
 \ 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 QZfje &torg tells itself* 
 
 A POSY OF FORGET-ME-NOTS. 
 
 T KKEY was a young man about tw r enty-one, 
 x whom the young people at the House much 
 liked. He was an amiable, pleasant-mannered 
 fellow, always ready to do a good turn to his 
 neighbours, and with a natural love for garden¬ 
 ing. He was working at Lord Lattimer’s place, 
 some few miles distant, as one of the under-gar¬ 
 deners, and it was an acknowledged thing, that 
 when Roberts, who was gardener at the House, 
 should be promoted, as he hoped to be some day 
 soon, to be head and chief at Lord Lattimer’s, 
 
 I 
 
114 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 Ikkey should step into his shoes. The grounds 
 at the House were not large, and one man did 
 the work very well. 
 
 Ikkey had no relations, and he lodged at Cool- 
 Dillay. Many people wondered why he lived so 
 far from his work, but the reason was no secret 
 to his friends and neighbours. The man and 
 woman with whom he lodged had a daughter 
 named Annie. At present he had not sufficient 
 means upon which to marry, but when he suc¬ 
 ceeded to Roberts, the wedding would take place. 
 
 It was about a fortnight after the mysterious 
 loss of the ring, when Mother Bunch, late in the 
 afternoon, was returning home across some fields, 
 accompanied by Pat. He was always as steady 
 as old Time with her, and would walk sedately 
 by her side, without any attempt to catch the 
 birds if they flew too low, to run after stray cocks 
 and hens, chase the cats, or hunt the leaves as 
 they dropped from the trees, and were blown 
 hither and thither by the wind. He had an idea 
 
A Posy of Forget-me-nots. 
 
 ”5 
 
 that he must take care of Mother Bunch, while 
 he knew his harum-scarum master and mistress 
 could look after themselves. It was a sore point 
 with these two that he would leave them any day 
 to go with her, and that she had more control 
 over him by the simple uplifting of her finger, than 
 
 they had with all their coaxing, entreaties and 
 caresses. 
 
 Mother Bunch walked with Pat by her side, one 
 of her hands resting upon his large, red head. 
 Through this field wandered the same slender 
 brown stream which sang so merrily in the Fairies’ 
 Hollow, and Mother Bunch saw some man bend¬ 
 ing over it, his back being towards her. Perhaps 
 he was picking watercress,—she waited, he turned, 
 and she recognised Ikkey. 
 
 He was tying together a posy of forget-me-nots, 
 the kind which grow in water, with thick, velvet 
 smooth stalks and leaves, and larger flowers. 
 Mother Bunch much preferred them to their thin- 
 stalked, scraggy brethren which flourish by the 
 
ii6 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 roadside and in the gardens ; the latter kind bears 
 quite a poor blossom in comparison, though the 
 former, I believe, ought to be called Myosotis, by 
 right. I prefer however the old-fashioned Forget- 
 me-not, and it reminds us of the story, the prettiest 
 of flower legends,—that when Adam had named 
 the flowers, they all passed in review before God, 
 and told Him what Adam had called them, but 
 when this little blue flower came, it looked up 
 to God, and said it could not remember what 
 Adam had named it; and God said, “ Forget- 
 Me- not.” 
 
 Ikkey was absorbed in his task, and did not 
 heed the child and dog as they trod noiselessly 
 over the short springy turf; Mother Bunch waited 
 quietly by him until he had completed his nose¬ 
 gay of bright blue flowers with their grey-green 
 foliage, then she touched him upon his arm. 
 
 He had been looking very sad when Mother 
 Bunch came up to him, but his face lighted from 
 forehead to chin when he saw who it was beside 
 
A Posy of Forget-me-nots. 117 
 
 him ; he stood bare-headed, his cap in his hand 
 the while he was talking to her. 
 
 Mother Bunch and Pat were wide-awake, and 
 both had the instinct of what Ikkey was about 
 to do. Upon the ground lay his stick and a 
 bundle; at the latter Pat smelled suspiciously, 
 then looked at Mother Bunch, threw back his 
 head and whined. He shared with most dogs a 
 strong dislike to people going away, and Mother 
 Bunch and he were both quite sure, when Ikkey 
 stood making up his posy of forget-me-nots, with 
 a sad face, and his bundle upon the ground, that 
 he was upon the point of leaving his home. Pat, 
 however, did not know the reason, nor for whom 
 the posy was intended, while Mother Bunch 
 guessed both. 
 
 “You are going away, Ikkey?” she said. 
 
 “Yes, Miss Vera.” 
 
 “ Why are you going ?” 
 
 “ Because of the ring, Miss Vera.” 
 
 “ Why ‘ because of the ring,’ Ikkey ?” 
 
ii 8 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 Ikkey’s sinewy hands held the flowers tighter, 
 while a gloomy expression came over his brown 
 face as he said, looking at the grass under his 
 feet, 
 
 “ Because I can’t bear it no longer, Miss Vera. 
 Until that there ring is found I consider my cha¬ 
 racter is clouded over. Nothing can be kinder 
 than the ladies and gentlemen up at the House. 
 I have no cause whatever to complain of they. 
 They talk handsome about it,—it were only yester¬ 
 day that Master Ethelred and Master Humfray 
 said they no more believed ’twas I, than they be¬ 
 lieved ’twas their own selves. ’Tain’t no use. As 
 long as I was in that room about just when ’twas 
 most likely the ring was lost, I can’t get it out of 
 my head but that the neighbours must think ’twas 
 I. It seems to I as if the folks all look at me 
 suspicious-like, and I daren’t trust myself to pass 
 the time of day to any of them for fear as 
 they should cast it in my teeth. So I am on my 
 road to Lunnon Town, there to wait until my 
 
A Posy of Forget-me-nots. 
 
 119 
 
 character is cleared, Miss Vera. But I don’t some¬ 
 how think now that that ring will ever be found 
 again,” and Ikkey’s voice sank to the depths of 
 despondency. 
 
 Mother Bunch was thoughtful. She waited a 
 long while ere she broke the silence ; then she said 
 softly, 
 
 “It must be somewhere .” 
 
 “ Ay, Miss Vera, but where ?” 
 
 Mother Bunch’s eyes went over Ikkey’s head and 
 sought the sky, which matched in colour the flowers 
 in Ikkey’s hand. 
 
 “ God knows,” she said, “ where the ring is, and 
 He will tell us some day.” 
 
 A bitter look swept across Ikkey’s face. 
 
 “ Some day” he repeated, sadly, scornfully. 
 “ Any way I can’t bear to bide here. I’ve thrown 
 up my situation, and I’m off to Lunnon Town, 
 ’cause folks say it’s a powerful place, and there’s 
 work there for everybody.” 
 
 If Mother Bunch had been older she could have 
 
120 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 told him differently. As it was she could only 
 comfort him in her own fashion. 
 
 “ Perhaps it will be some day soon” she said, 
 “ then you must come back directly. It does not 
 take long to come from London. Mr. Pippo and 
 Uncle Ted often come from there.” 
 
 The bridging over of the distance was a sweet 
 thought to Ikkey ; he even smiled, wanly enough, 
 but still a smile. They walked on in silence side 
 by side, Pat depressed, with tail and ears hung 
 down. Then Mother Bunch’s soft, clear voice 
 broke the stillness by saying decidedly, 
 
 “ If Roberts gets moved over there,”—waving 
 her small hand in the direction of Lord Lattimer’s, 
 “ while you are away, we shall have to do with¬ 
 out a gardener, for Grandfather Sylvester will not 
 have any one but you in his place, Ikkey. He said 
 so the other day.” 
 
 The first ray of hope found its way into Ikkey’s 
 heart at these words. Quite a glad light shone in 
 his eyes as he turned them gratefully upon Mother 
 
A Posy of Forget-me-nots. 
 
 12 I 
 
 Bunch, who walked beside him so calm and grave, 
 looking steadfastly straight before her. He trod 
 more firmly and held his head more erect, for her 
 words, spoken so gently, yet decidedly, seemed 
 to bear a promise that some time in the future 
 the dark clouds would lift and show their silver 
 lining. 
 
 Nothing more was said then, and at the church 
 their ways separated; but the door stood open 
 as usual, and Mother Bunch never passed it 
 without going in, if only for a minute, to say her 
 prayers. She held up her finger reprovingly at Pat. 
 
 “ You must be a good dog, Pat, and stay out¬ 
 side. Dogs have never been little children, and 
 have never been brought to church to be christ¬ 
 ened. So you must stay outside. If you try to 
 come in the angels will turn you out.” 
 
 Pat wagged his bushy red tail and winked his 
 loving brown eyes, as much as to say, 
 
 “ Trust me, dear little Mother Bunch. I mean 
 to be good and not try to go in.” 
 
122 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 Then Mother Bunch turned to Ikkey. 
 
 “ Poor Pat has not any prayers to say, but you 
 have, Ikkey ; and God is listening, and we must 
 not keep Him waiting.” 
 
 The red colour flew over Ikkey’s face. He would 
 as soon have thought of disobeying the Queen as 
 Mother Bunch. But he stammered, 
 
 “ I—I—do not know what prayers to say, Miss 
 Vera.” 
 
 “ Oh, Ikkey ! Of course you know many more 
 than I do, because you are so much bigger and 
 have ever so many more things you want to say.” 
 
 Ikkey did not reply, but meekly followed Mother 
 Bunch into the church. Perhaps the restful feeling 
 that there, away from the world, there was peace ; 
 or perhaps the thought Mother Bunch had put 
 into his mind, that God was so near and listening 
 for him to speak, brought the words from his full 
 heart to his lips. Whichever of these it might be, 
 or whether both, certainly Ikkey found comfort in 
 his sorrow, for he knelt motionless at prayer, only 
 
A Posy of Forget-me-nots. 
 
 123 
 
 his lips moving, long after Mother Bunch had 
 finished her simple devotions. 
 
 Her prayers were always short, but she prayed 
 a great many times in the day. She was not in a 
 hurry, and sat up in her seat, taking advantage of 
 her waiting to give a friendly smile and under¬ 
 standing nod to kind S. John in his blue gown. 
 Ever since the night he had walked out of his 
 window and cuddled her in his arms, she had felt 
 that quite a confidential friendship had been esta¬ 
 blished between them. She had told nobody of 
 it, but she never left the church without a friendly 
 smile and nod as she passed his window. 
 
 There was a softened expression in Ikkey’s face 
 as they came from the church together, nor was he 
 ashamed of the tears upon his lashes, as he held 
 out his posy of forget-me-nots. 
 
 “ Will you be so kind as to give them to Annie 
 for me, Miss Vera ? and say,”—and Ikkey swept a 
 longing glance over the village which looked so 
 calm and lovely in the evening light,—“ that I am 
 
124 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 powerful vexed to have to go, but that I hope, yes, 
 I do hope, Miss Vera, that some day we shall see 
 each other again.” 
 
 “ Some day soon,” added Mother Bunch, “ and 
 Ikkey, you will write and tell Annie where you are 
 living, because then we shall know where to send 
 for you when the ring is found.” 
 
 “ Yes, Miss Vera,” said Ikkey, “ I will do that. 
 Good-bye, and thank you kindly, Miss Vera.” 
 
 “ Good-bye,” said Mother Bunch, “ and come 
 back soon.” 
 
 Ikkey smiled at the repetition of the word ; it 
 sounded sweet to him. And the last remembrance 
 he carried with him of Cool-Dillay was that of 
 Mother Bunch, with one hand upon Pat’s red head, 
 the other grasping the big posy of forget-me-nots, 
 looking back at him with grave, quiet face while 
 her lips seemed to say, 
 
 “ Soon.” 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 f^umftag tells tlje iStorg. 
 
 PHYLLIS’S BALL OF WORSTED. 
 
 T)OOR Ikkey left Cool-Dillay because of the 
 loss of that unfortunate ring : if it was not 
 for Grandfather Sylvester I should have wished it 
 had never been dug up. Ikkey was so silly to 
 think that any one who knew him could believe 
 for an instant that he had taken that ring. We 
 told him over and over again that it must have 
 rolled into a corner or hidden in a crack ; but he 
 knew that every crack had been well poked into 
 and every corner examined, so he only answered, 
 
 “ I don’t say as how you suspects me, but other 
 
 folks does.” 
 
126 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 But if Ikkey had got the idea into his stupid 
 head that other folks suspect him, he did the very 
 thing that set them talking. They said that of 
 course he had gone to London to sell the ring. It 
 put us out very much altogether, Ikkey’s disap¬ 
 pearance and what the people said ; we felt dread¬ 
 fully down and depressed over it. Then Annie 
 Fawn grew so pale and looked so wretched that 
 we were as guilty criminals and sneaked out of her 
 way if we saw her coming; we could not help the 
 feeling that it was our fault. Dear Grandfather 
 Sylvester too gets worse instead of better, and the 
 elders say that the worry of Ikkey and the ring has 
 a great deal to do with his illness. 
 
 We none of us knew Ikkey was going until he 
 had gone, except of course Mother Bunch. By- 
 the-way, Isabel wishes us to get out of the habit 
 of calling her Mother Bunch, and give her her 
 real name “Vera,” which we have almost forgotten 
 is her name. It is very difficult, but we try to 
 oblige Isabel, though at present Vera seems a 
 
Phyllis's Ball of Worsted. 
 
 127 
 
 stranger and Mother Bunch an old friend. I do 
 not know how it is that she is always in luck, but 
 she is. As Phyllis says, if one doesn’t want to 
 meet a person one runs straight into their arms ; 
 while if there is anybody you particularly want to 
 meet you may hunt for them in the likeliest places 
 ’ and not run them to earth at all. But Mother 
 Bunch—I mean Vera—always has such luck. We 
 should like to have seen poor Ikkey, and we might 
 have prevailed upon him not to go. Vera did not 
 tell us much of what he said ; we wish we had met 
 him too. 
 
 Ikkey had been gone nearly three weeks when 
 another odd thing happened. Phyllis was knitting 
 some coarse worsted stockings for Gay when he 
 goes upon his bicycle. He wore out such a number 
 of bought ones in a short time that mother said 
 she could not afford it, and that he must not ride 
 his bicycle unless he has the proper stockings— 
 very coarse worsted ones knitted by Phyllis. The 
 bore is that she is such an immense time over 
 
128 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 them : I fancy she took it easily after she had 
 finished the first pair, thinking those would last 
 some while, but those were in the tub, and poor 
 Gay hung about her, imploring her to hurry, as 
 he wanted a ride upon his bicycle. The other 
 afternoon we were four of us in the schoolroom, 
 Phyllis and Sylvia reading, Ethelred and myself 
 at preparation, when Gay bustled in. He is a 
 regular little fidget sometimes. 
 
 “ I say, Phyllis, have you finished my stockings 
 yet ?” 
 
 Ethelred, Sylvia, and I laughed,—we could not 
 help it,—it was the one question poor Gay was 
 constantly asking. We waited to hear Phyllis’s 
 usual answer, “ I am getting on with them,” when 
 we had intended to sit upon her on Gay’s be¬ 
 half ; but whether she suspected as much, or was 
 nettled at our laughing, I do not know ; which¬ 
 ever it was she put down her book and answered 
 in a mild voice, 
 
 “ I am very sorry, Gay. But there isn’t much 
 
Phyllis's Ball of Worsted. 
 
 129 
 
 more to do to the last one ; if you can wait, I will 
 finish them now.” 
 
 “ I want them badly,” sighed Gay, “ but what do 
 you call ‘ not much/ Phyllis ?” 
 
 “ About a quarter of an hour’s work, or twenty 
 minutes,” said Phyllis, bringing out the unfinished 
 stocking and settling down. 
 
 “ Twenty minutes,” Gay looked longingly at the 
 sunshine. 
 
 “ A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,” 
 murmured Ethelred, without raising his eyes. 
 
 “ IT1 wait,” said Gay in a decided voice. 
 
 “ Very well,” said Phyllis, and she commenced 
 knitting. 
 
 There was silence for some time. We were deep 
 in our preparation, when Gay remarked in a very 
 brisk tone, 
 
 “ As it takes you so long to knit those stockings 
 you had better begin some more directly. Sylvia 
 might do one and you the other, then they would 
 not take so long.” 
 
 K 
 
130 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 “ Thank you,” said Sylvia. “ Do you know, 
 Phyllis,” she said, shutting up her book, “ that that 
 is the very ball of worsted you were winding the 
 morning the ring was lost.” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Phyllis, with a sigh. “ What a pity I 
 ever asked Grandfather Sylvester to let me wear that 
 ring. There has been nothing but trouble since.” 
 
 “ It was a pity too that I was taken ill upon 
 that particular morning,” said Sylvia, “ if I had not 
 been, I should not have gone into his study, and you 
 would not have come in to ask how I was, and—” 
 
 “ Do you think,” interrupted Gay, who was 
 anxiously watching the finishing of his stocking, 
 “ that you will have enough stuff, Phyllis ?—the ball 
 is getting very small, and the stocking does not 
 look nearly finished.” 
 
 “ I was wondering too,” said Phyllis, “ and if there 
 is not enough you will have to wait after all; for I 
 have not another yard left, except what you see 
 here, and you must bring some more when you 
 come from school to-morrow.” 
 
Phyllis's Ball of Worsted. 131 
 
 “ That will be a bother, after my trouble of wait- 
 
 ✓ 
 
 ing,” said Gay, and we sympathised with him so 
 much that we forgot our preparation, and kept our 
 eyes fixed upon the ball of worsted slowly turning 
 round, as it lay upon Phyllis’s lap. 
 
 “ Will there be enough ?” said Gay. 
 
 “ You are so impatient,” said Phyllis, “ wait and 
 see” 
 
 “ I have waited months already,” argued Gay. 
 “ You can’t call me impatient.” 
 
 “ Poor Gay,” murmured Ethelred. 
 
 “ Let us hope for the best,” said I. 
 
 “The ball is growing very small,” said Gay 
 
 gloomily. 
 
 “ I think—I really think there will be enough,” 
 said Phyllis. 
 
 Gay brightened, and whistled a cheerful tune. 
 “That’s all right,” he said. 
 
 “ I am not quite sure,” said Phyllis after another 
 pause. “ I am afraid—” 
 
 Gay’s face lengthened, and by his anxious ex- 
 
132 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 pression, you would have thought his life almost 
 depended upon that tiny ball of worsted. 
 
 We watched with amusement; there was very 
 little worsted left. “ Gay will lose,” said Ethelred. 
 The worsted caught, Phyllis gave a hard pull to 
 disentangle it, and from the middle of the tiny ball 
 something bright and shining was jerked into her 
 lap. 
 
 “ Oh !” We four who were looking on gave a 
 shout, and sprang upon Phyllis, nearly knocking 
 her over. We might have been playing pounce 
 commerce, only we do not usually make such a 
 noise over it, as we did then. Eight hands were 
 in her lap at once, and her knitting pins were 
 nearly in our eyes. Ethelred was the victor ; he 
 seized it. 
 
 The wonderful it! There was such a clamour as 
 we tried to see into his hand, which he kept shut 
 tight, and held over his head. 
 
 " Is it ?” 
 
 “ It is.” 
 

 
 
 
 
 « V 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 /- 
 
 
 
 
 
 • . 
 
 
 
 * 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
PAGE 133. 
 
Phyllis's Ball of Worsted. 
 
 133 
 
 “ Really ?” 
 
 " Really and truly.” 
 
 “ How very odd.” 
 
 “ We should never have thought of looking there.” 
 
 “ What is it ?” inquired Phyllis, who had been 
 intent upon her stocking. “ What are you making 
 such a noise about ?” 
 
 “ Don’t you guess ?” 
 
 “ Of course I don’t. How can I ? There is nothing 
 in a ball of worsted to make such a fuss about.” 
 
 “ Isn't there /” said Ethelred with emphasis, and 
 bringing his hand down from over his head, he 
 opened it before Phyllis’s astonished eyes—and 
 there upon his palm lay the lady’s ring. “ No, you 
 are not to touch, Phyllis; there’s a fatality about 
 you and that ring, we don’t want to lose it 
 again.” 
 
 “ We were all watching, and saw it roll out,” said 
 Sylvia, “ but you were looking at the stocking and 
 missed it.” 
 
 “ But how did it get in ?” said Phyllis, who was so 
 
134 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 bewildered that she did nothing but stare at Ethel- 
 red’s hand with the ring lying upon it. 
 
 “ From your finger, I suppose,” said Ethelred. 
 
 “Yes, now I see,” said Phyllis, “the ring was too 
 large for my little finger, and while I was com¬ 
 mencing the ball, I must have slipped it off with 
 the wool and into the midst of it; because I was 
 practising the new way of winding wool, which 
 Cousin Constance taught me.” 
 
 “ And there it has lain ever since,” said I. 
 
 “You see,” said Gay, who is fond of being what 
 Ethelred^ calls ‘ a little moral,’ sometimes ; “ if you 
 had worked harder at my stockings, the ring would 
 have been found sooner, perhaps in time to prevent 
 Ikkey from going away.” 
 
 “ We ought to take it to Grandfather Sylvester 
 at once,” said I, “how pleased he will be.” 
 
 Just then mother entered, and we turned upon her. 
 
 “ Is Grandfather awake ?” we shouted. 
 
 “ Gently,” she said. “ What is such a noise 
 
 about ?” 
 
Phyllis's Ball of Worsted. 
 
 135 
 
 “ Good news,” said Ethelred. “ We have found 
 the ring; or rather the ring found itself, for we 
 were not looking for it, or thinking of it.” 
 
 Mother was astonished. “ Why, where was it ?” 
 she said. 
 
 “ In Phyllis’s ball of worsted,” said I. 
 
 % 
 
 “ That is good news,” said mother, “ and if you 
 can be tolerably quiet and steady, you may all go 
 in to Grandfather Sylvester, and take the ring.” 
 
 We were, as a rule, allowed in one at a time, and 
 only once a day, as he was not strong enough to 
 bear much—except Vera, who went in and out as 
 she pleased. She was there when we carried in the 
 ring in triumph, sitting upon a stool at Grand¬ 
 father’s feet, as still as a mouse. 
 
 We astonished Grandfather Sylvester by appear¬ 
 ing in a body; more when we showed him what 
 we had found. Pie was delighted, and we did not 
 seem to tire him as we stood around his chair and 
 told him about it. Gay amused us and Grand¬ 
 father, I am sure, by the feeling way in which he 
 
136 
 
 Mother Bunch . 
 
 described his unfinished stocking. Vera only spoke 
 once, and then it was to say, 
 
 “ Now Ikkey can come home.” 
 
 “Yes,” Grandfather Sylvester said, “Ikkey must 
 be our first thought.” 
 
 When we went away, mother wrote a note from 
 Grandfather’s dictation, to Ikkey, and we ourselves 
 took it to Annie for the address. She was sitting 
 working at the window, pale as any ghost, but we 
 sang out that we had good news, and she ran to 
 the door to meet us. The colour came to her 
 cheeks as she fetched Ikkey’s letter, dated a week 
 back; Ethelred copied the address, and we posted 
 the letter, not trusting it even to Annie, taking care 
 to spread the news that Ikkey, if anybody had 
 doubted him, was perfectly innocent. It flew like 
 magic, and those who had doubted him were now 
 very sorry. 
 
 There was a load off our minds, until several days 
 passed, and no answer to the letter came. The 
 only answer we imagined was Ikkey himself, com- 
 
Phyllis's Ball of Worsted. 
 
 137 
 
 ing back by the first train to Cool-Dillay. Grand¬ 
 father Sylvester thought he might have spent all 
 his money, and he wrote to Mr. Pippo and asked 
 him if he would kindly go to the address given, 
 and supply him with what was necessary. Mr. 
 Pippo appeared, bearing mother’s letter unopened. 
 Ikkey had left for Brighton the day before it 
 arrived. He could get no work in London of any 
 sort, and he had gone to see if he would be more 
 fortunate at Brighton. He had paid what he owed 
 his landlady, but had left no message, nor said 
 anything about expecting a letter, or where they 
 were to be sent if any came. 
 
 We seemed pretty much as we were before the 
 ring was found, as far as Ikkey was concerned. 
 Grandfather Sylvester is so kind-hearted, that he 
 vexes sadly over it. The doctor said that he must 
 not be at Cool-Dillay in November, but that he 
 must go for a month, or six weeks, or two months, 
 if he can, to Brighton. Some of us are to go with 
 him, not all. There are such a number of us, that 
 
138 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 he could not afford to take every one of us. Phyllis 
 and Sylvia are going on a visit; Cousin Con¬ 
 stance, Isabel and Gordon remain at Cool-Dillay, 
 while mother, Ethelred, Gay, the twins, Vera, and 
 myself, accompany Grandfather Sylvester. Bill and 
 Nan have flagged lately, a most unusual thing for 
 them, and it is thought the change may be good 
 for them. 
 
 We have none of us seen the sea, and should be 
 almost too happy ; if it were not for those starving 
 people we have upon our minds, Mr. Pippo and 
 Ikkey. Ikkey we can only imagine, Mr. Pippo we 
 saw , when he came down with the neglected letter, 
 and we kept him for a few days ; he looked mise¬ 
 rably thin and ill. He is working hard, and I do 
 not believe he gets enough to eat. We are quite 
 depressed over him. Then there is Ikkey. But we 
 are going to Brighton, and if he is there, we mean 
 to find him, if we spend our days in searching it 
 from end to end. 
 
 Roberts has just got the situation at Lord Latti- 
 
Phyllis's Ball of Worsted. 
 
 139 
 
 mer’s for which he has been so long waiting; and 
 there is ours ready for Ikkey, and no Ikkey to step 
 into it! How badly things have arranged them¬ 
 selves. If the ring had been found two days 
 sooner! We are inclined to take Gay’s part more 
 than ever, and think Phyllis need not have been so 
 lazy over those stockings. 
 
 Bill and Nan know no trouble. They are so de¬ 
 lighted and excited, that we can’t imagine what we 
 shall do with them. They were very anxious to 
 take Pat, but met with such a decided “ No ,” that 
 even they did not venture to ask a second time. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 tells tfje istorg. 
 
 GAY DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF ; THE TWINS 
 
 DO NOT. 
 
 T T was nearly the end of October when we 
 moved to Brighton. The weather was very 
 mild, and we were able, late though it was, to get 
 sea-bathing. When it grew too cold and nasty for 
 the sea we went to the swimming-baths, which we 
 did not like so well. 
 
 We had not been long at Brighton before Gay 
 distinguished himself, and made us very proud of 
 him, though we did not tell him so, for Grand¬ 
 father Sylvester is always afraid lest we shall grow 
 
Gay distinguishes himself \ the Twins do not. 141 
 
 up proud and conceited. He says that pride is 
 the most subtle fault there is, because it has so 
 many different ways of showing itself, and is even 
 by some people accounted a virtue. He told us 
 the story of the young man who asked what was 
 the first step towards Heaven, and was told it was 
 humility. The second ? humility. The third ? 
 humility still, showing how hard it is to attain,— 
 that pride is our first sin, and will, as being the 
 one most difficult to conquer, be the last to 
 leave us. 
 
 One morning Ethelred and I were too lazy to 
 go down to bathe in the sea, and Bill does not care 
 about it; he never cares for anything in which his 
 twin cannot join, therefore Gay went alone. He 
 takes to the water like a duck, and swims fairly 
 well. That morning he had swum some distance 
 and was turning round when he heard a cry for 
 help and saw a fellow, evidently seized with cramp, 
 struggling in the water. Gay resembles Mother 
 Bunch in generally keeping a cool head, and he 
 
142 
 
 Mother Bunch . 
 
 swam to the spot where the fellow had sunk, and 
 waited for him to come to the surface. Gay said 
 he had read in books that the best way of saving 
 a drowning person is to seize hold of their hair ; 
 he had also read that there is great danger of a 
 drowning man losing his wits and hanging on to 
 the one who tries to save him, until he very often 
 drags him down and both are drowned together. 
 
 “ I didn’t want to be drowned,” said Gay, in his 
 funny, high-pitched voice, and dictatorial manner, 
 “ so I sang out when the fellow came uppermost, 
 ‘ Listen, you fellow. If you hang on to me I’ll 
 knock you off and leave you to drown ; but if you 
 do as I tell you, I’ll do my best to save you.’ 
 Then I made a grab at his hair, but I suppose the 
 book must have meant a lady’s hair, for there was 
 nothing of his to hold on by, it was cropped close ; 
 so I slipped my hand into his jersey, where the 
 collar would have been, and swam with him to 
 shore. He was nearly choked, but when he had 
 spit out the water he had swallowed, he told me his 
 
Gay distinguishes himself \ the Twins do not. 143 
 
 name was Brown, and that he was staying at the 
 Bedford ; then he asked my name, and where I 
 was living, and said ‘ Thank you/ and shook hands, 
 and then we both went home, and that was all” 
 Brown, father and son, called upon us to express 
 their warmest gratitude. Gay was out, but Grand¬ 
 father Sylvester, Ethelred, and I were sitting to¬ 
 gether when they came, and Brown junior gave a 
 fuller account than Gay’s. He said he was despe¬ 
 rate, and should certainly have clung to Gay, if he 
 had not made his heart quake when he heard him 
 speak. He said Gay spoke as if he really meant 
 what he said, and Brown felt he would keep his 
 word. He could not see, and he thought by the 
 tone and manner that it was a grown-up person 
 who was coming to his assistance. He is much 
 older and bigger than Gay, and he said, with tears 
 in his eyes, that he never should forget Gay’s 
 struggles as he swam to land. Two or three 
 times big waves nearly overmastered him, but he 
 held out gallantly, never once loosing his grip 
 
144 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 upon Brown’s jersey. We were real proud of 
 Gay when we heard that. We knew then that the 
 two would have come to shore or—neither. Gay 
 has certainly scored one. 
 
 I suppose the exertion was too much for his 
 strength, for he was ailing for several days after¬ 
 wards, and it was an excuse for us to pet him and 
 make much of him. He did not complain of any 
 particular pain, but he was always tired ; could not 
 eat, and seemed altogether out of sorts. He was 
 not himself for nearly a fortnight. 
 
 We wonder whether in the midst of battling 
 with the waves he found voice to chant his favourite 
 lines, 
 
 ‘ ‘ My strength is as the strength of ten, 
 
 Because my heart is pure.” 
 
 We did not venture to ask him, for since we teased 
 him for always accompanying himself in his bath 
 to it, he has been very touchy upon the subject. 
 But Ethelred cautiously sounded Brown ; did 
 not say what , but only that Gay had a habit of 
 
Gay distingu ishes himself, the Twins do not . 145 
 
 chanting, and Brown said he heard something at 
 first, but was too anxious to listen, and as the 
 journey grew more difficult the sound ceased, for 
 Gay wanted every breath and all his strength to 
 land Brown and himself in safety. So we were 
 satisfied. We are so thankful he came safely out 
 of it. There are a good many of us, but oh ! we 
 should have missed dear Gay. A vacant place is 
 a vacant place, be the circle small or large, and 
 can never be filled again; the blank is always 
 there. 
 
 There is a great deal to be done in Brighton, 
 and Grandfather Sylvester says we are to do what 
 we like, according to our different tastes. Bill 
 and Nan have taken to riding donkeys, which is, 
 as we all said, exactly what you would have ex¬ 
 pected of them. Ethelred, Gay, and myself have 
 devoted ourselves to boating; and part of each 
 day we give up to searching after Ikkey. 
 
 We have made friends with a nice boatman named 
 Dann, in whose boats we go out. We have asked 
 
 L 
 
146 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 him, as he is so much upon the beach and else¬ 
 where, if he will always be upon the look-out for 
 Ikkey. Dann said he would if we would describe 
 him, and Ethelred began,— 
 
 “ Dark hair, nearly black—” 
 
 “ Rather curly at the ends,” I said. 
 
 “ It’s too short to have much curl in it,” put in 
 Gay. 
 
 “ Dark eyes,” continued Ethelred, “ complexion 
 burnt a deep brown—” 
 
 “ He may have grown whiter since he left,” said 
 Gay, “ Annie is.” 
 
 “ Good teeth,” went on Ethelred, “ and nose,— 
 by the way, what sort of a nose has he ?” 
 
 “ Oh, like everybody else’s,—straight, you know,” 
 said Gay, who hasn’t a notion of features, and 
 would, I believe, describe everybody thus,—“Two 
 eyes, one nose, a pair of lips, and a head of 
 hair.” 
 
 “ I don’t think I ever noticed his nose,” I said. 
 
 “Nor I,” said Ethelred. “Well then, middling 
 
Gay distinguishes himself, the Twins do not. 147 
 
 height, neither tall nor short,—and there you are, 
 Dann !” 
 
 “ Let me get them well in my head, sir,” said 
 Dann, checking off the items upon his fingers and 
 thumb, “ dark hair, dark eyes, dark brown skin, 
 nose of no account, and middling height. No¬ 
 thing particular about him that you sight him in 
 a minute, is there, sir ?” 
 
 “ No,” replied Ethelred,—then we looked hope¬ 
 lessly at each other. 
 
 They say there are no two people alike in the 
 world, unless it may be here and there twins, yet 
 if you have to describe a person, how difficult it 
 is to do it. There is Ikkey now: as Dann said, 
 he might come across twenty fellows answering to 
 the description Ethelred gave, and yet not one of 
 the twenty be Ikkey. 
 
 We seem no nearer finding him than when first 
 we came. Grandfather Sylvester would be better, 
 only we can all see how dreadfully this is worrying 
 him. Isabel wrote the other day and said that 
 
148 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 Annie had had no letter but the one Ikkey had 
 written soon after he reached London. She did 
 not say how Annie was, but that I am sure was 
 to save Grandfather Sylvester the pain of hearing 
 about her. 
 
 A few evenings ago we had some hope put into 
 us. Dann came up to say he had seen “ a young 
 chap selling flowers/ 5 who answered to the descrip¬ 
 tion of Ikkey. Dann entered into conversation 
 with him, and, though he was very guarded in his 
 answers, he managed to find out that he had not 
 been long in Brighton, that his trade was that of 
 a gardener, and that he had lived all his life in 
 the country. 
 
 We young ones jumped at once to the conclu¬ 
 sion that of course it was Ikkey, and we asked 
 Dann why he had let him slip; but Dann said he 
 “ couldn’t, without giving a reason, ask him to step 
 up to us, that the young chap seemed shy, and 
 he was afeard of frightening him ; and then de¬ 
 scriptions ain’t to be trusted, and ten to one it 
 
Gay distinguishes himself, the Twins do not. 149 
 
 wasn’t the young chap we wanted. Besides, if he 
 was selling flowers one day he’d be sure to be 
 selling them another, and then we could see for 
 ourselves. If it was Ikkey, it would be all proper, 
 and if it wasn’t, no bones would be broken.” 
 
 Grandfather Sylvester said that Dann was quite 
 right to be cautious, and he warned us against 
 raising our hopes too high. There might be 
 several young men with dark hair and eyes who 
 came from the country, whose trade was that of 
 a gardener, and who had not been long in Brigh¬ 
 ton. But I really believe that he himself counted 
 somewhat upon it, and as for us younger ones, 
 we went to bed feeling sure that the next day 
 would find Ikkey safely housed under our roof. 
 
 Though it was November, it was mild and 
 balmy when we awoke, and when the sun got up 
 it was lovely. We had intended to go boating, 
 but instead of that we walked Brighton from one 
 end to the other, noting every man who carried 
 flowers. In spite of our sacrifice we were disap- 
 
Mother Bunch. 
 
 150 
 
 pointed, for at the end of the day we were no 
 nearer finding Ikkey than at the commencement. 
 
 We went to Dann, he had been looking out 
 also, and he said he had not seen again the same 
 young man he told us of yesterday. 
 
 We are more than ever sure it was Ikkey, and 
 we hope he has not left Brighton and gone to 
 another place. 
 
 We have come to the conclusion that Bill and 
 Nan must not be taken into counsel. They are 
 such terrible blunderers, and they got themselves 
 and us into a really bad scrape while we were 
 walking in search of Ikkey. Grandfather Syl¬ 
 vester says he wishes they would bear in mind 
 that, 
 
 “ Evil is wrought by want of thought, 
 
 More than by want of heart.” 
 
 I do not know whether I have quoted this cor¬ 
 rectly ; I believe it is as Grandfather Sylvester 
 said it. We have lodgings in the King’s Road, 
 just opposite the part of the beach where the don- 
 
Gay distinguishes himself \ the Twins do not. 151 
 
 keys are, at the entrance of Hove; and Bill and 
 Nan are allowed to go and come back so far alone, 
 —further, we dare not trust them. Yesterday after¬ 
 noon they went down, being so fine, for a donkey 
 ride. Upon their return, it was growing dusk, and 
 a man turned swiftly round the corner near where 
 we live, and went from the King’s Road up the 
 street. Bill and Nan caught sight of a dark head, a 
 ragged coat, a brown hand, holding a basket partly 
 filled with flowers, and jumping at once to a con¬ 
 clusion they called out, “ Stop, Ikkey.” A group of 
 idle boys misunderstanding them, either by mis¬ 
 take or on purpose, took up the cry and shouted 
 “ Stop thief.” The man started off running, Bill 
 and Nan after him, and the boys after them. “ Stop, 
 Ikkey,” they kept on crying, and “ Stop thief,” 
 called out the boys ; and soon a whole crowd col¬ 
 lected, racing up streets and down streets and round 
 corners and across squares just where the man led 
 them, and shouting “ Stop thief, stop thief,” as loud 
 as they could. 
 
152 
 
 Mother Bunch . 
 
 Bill and Nan declared, when asked about it, that 
 they had made up their minds, directly the man 
 set off running, that he must be Ikkey ; that they 
 had paid no attention to the words the crowd said, 
 but concluded that they were saying “ Stop, Ikkey” 
 like themselves. The man led them a chase until 
 he was brought to bay by a tall policeman who 
 appeared from somewhere. Then he turned ; Bill 
 and Nan saw he was not Ikkey, nor bore any re¬ 
 semblance to him ; and, fearing they should be 
 scolded for being late, they slipped quietly through 
 the crowd and made their way home; leaving the 
 people, the man, and policeman, to settle affairs as 
 best they could. 
 
 They did not tell us anything of this, being 
 ashamed, I suppose, and no doubt in the “ happy- 
 go-lucky” nature which they possess, thought they 
 should hear no more about it. They were mis¬ 
 taken. They will hear a great deal more about it. 
 
 This morning Gay, Ethelred, and myself were 
 going out with Grandfather Sylvester, and we were 
 
Gay distinguishes himself, the Twins do not. 153 
 
 in the dining-room upon the point of starting, when 
 the superintendent of the police was shown in. 
 He produced a note-book and pencil, and asked 
 what charge of theft was brought by the young 
 gentleman and lady against the man, Albert Saun¬ 
 ders, whom they had chased the previous evening, 
 and who had been taken in charge and locked up 
 for the night. I suppose the boys, there are often 
 a group, lounging near the corner a few yards 
 from our house, knew Bill and Nan by sight, 
 and had given the address, and told where they 
 lived. 
 
 Grandfather Sylvester knew nothing, nor did we, 
 but we fetched Bill and Nan, and I really believe, 
 if it only lasts, that they have had a fright. Grand¬ 
 father Sylvester was stern and examined them 
 himself; they grew red, hung their heads, stood 
 first upon one leg then upon the other, after the 
 manner of fowls, and muttered so low we could 
 hardly hear what they said. 
 
 After they had left the room, Grandfather Syl- 
 
154 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 vester spoke to the superintendent of the police, 
 who said the man should be released, but Grand¬ 
 father said he must have some recompense for 
 being locked up upon unjust suspicion. The super¬ 
 intendent shrugged his shoulders and said there 
 was no need of that, the man was a vagrant fellow, 
 well known to the police, and he had no doubt he 
 had done many things for which he deserved to be 
 locked up. We were very glad Grandfather Syl¬ 
 vester was firm and said that justice was justice, 
 and he certainly should do what he intended. Then 
 the superintendent left, promising to send Albert 
 Saunders. He kept his word, and Grandfather 
 gave him ten shillings. 
 
 Bill and Nan had a lecture from Grandfather 
 Sylvester which really alarmed them. He pointed 
 out that an innocent person had been unjustly sus¬ 
 pected and locked up for a whole night, because 
 of their blundering and carelessness, and that if 
 they did not try to improve, worse than that might 
 happen. He talked a great deal to them, and they 
 
Gay disti?iguishes himself, the Twins do not. 155 
 
 have been quite subdued ever since. I do not 
 think they will be so careless for the future; Ethel- 
 red says, “ Not until they forget again.” At any 
 rate we shall keep this as a rod in pickle, and hold 
 it over them. 
 
 It was lucky they did not see Albert Saunders, or 
 their remorse and penitence would have vanished ; 
 he was so very delighted with the ten shillings that 
 we did not believe he would object to being locked 
 up every night—with the same result. We had 
 not much opinion of him after that ; we thought 
 he ought to have valued his character more than 
 money. 
 
 How difficult it is to find people when once you 
 lose them ; as difficult, Ethelred says, as looking 
 for a needle in a bundle of hay. More so, I say, 
 for if you hunt through the hay carefully the needle, 
 if it be there, would prick your finger and you 
 would find it. But hunt through Brighton how¬ 
 ever carefully we may, there is no pricking of the 
 finger to show that Ikkey is near. Grandfather 
 
156 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 Sylvester, I am sure, is growing despondent, though 
 he will not own to it, but keeps repeating the 
 motto of the fatal ring— 
 
 “ The day will corned 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 p^umftau tells tfjc Storg. 
 
 GAY HAS SOMETHING ON HIS MIND. 
 
 NE afternoon Ethelred and I came in early ; 
 
 the truth was it was a most unpleasant day, 
 for there was a strong east wind which made us 
 shiver even though we had buttoned our great coats 
 tightly over us. I don’t know why an east wind 
 more than another wind should pierce through any 
 amount of clothing, and cut your bones in two, but 
 that is just what it docs ; other cold you can wrap 
 up against ; an east wind finds out your nerves, 
 and makes you feel, as our cook says, “ all-overish.” 
 
158 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 Ethelred and I agreed that there is no proverb so 
 true as the one which declares that— 
 
 “ When the wind is in the east 
 It’s neither good for man nor beast.” 
 
 We had made ourselves tidy for the evening, and 
 were on our way down stairs to sit with Grand¬ 
 father Sylvester and amuse him, for he had not 
 been out all day—indeed it was not the weather 
 for any invalid to venture outside the door—and 
 we were still feeling skinned and rasping in mind 
 and body, which is the effect a downright easter 
 always produces in us ; when, as we passed Gay’s 
 room, we heard no end of a noise. We stopped to 
 listen. There was a splashing and dashing of 
 water, as if a dozen young whales were having a 
 game of play, and over and above that we heard a 
 shrill chanting, Gay’s voice pitched to its highest 
 key— 
 
 “ My strength is as the strength of ten, 
 
 Because my heart is pure.” 
 
 I do not fancy I have ever mentioned another of 
 
Gay has something 071 his mind. 
 
 159 
 
 Gay’s oddities, which is that when he is vexed, or 
 has anything on his mind, he goes straight to his 
 room and has a bath. Mother at one time wanted 
 to put a stop to it by forbidding it, but Grandfather 
 Sylvester said, No ; perhaps the cold water did 
 him good morally as well as physically—that the 
 exertion and bracing effect worked matters off his 
 mind and made him feel happier and better. If 
 the result was good it was better not to interfere 
 with the means ; so long as there was nothing 
 wrong about them. And I must say we have 
 noticed that Gay always appears more cheerful and 
 contented after his tubbing—if anything has gone 
 crooked that has obliged him to have one—so we 
 conclude the strange idea succeeds with him. 
 
 “ I wonder what is the matter now,” said I, as 
 we stood in the passage and listened to the splash¬ 
 ing of water and the sound of Gay’s voice. “ I 
 hope nothing worse has happened since we went 
 out.” 
 
 For, what with our troubles, and the depression 
 
i6o 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 of not finding Ikkey, and Grandfather Sylvester 
 still keeping so unwell, I had grown desponding, 
 and there was always the feeling in my mind that 
 something worse was to follow. 
 
 “ Perhaps it is only the east wind,” said Ethelred, 
 who was still smarting from it. 
 
 “ Nonsense,—Gay wouldn’t have a bath for that , 
 though it does make one feel savage as an old bear 
 that has had no supper. I am afraid there may 
 be worse news about Ikkey, or perhaps Annie has 
 pined herself into her grave ; she has been ill; or 
 Mr. Pippo been found dead in his bed from starva¬ 
 tion, or—” 
 
 “I say, Humfray, shut up at once,” growled 
 Ethelred ; “ you are worse than all the horrors of 
 a newspaper. I’ll ask Gay in order that your mind 
 may be set at rest.” 
 
 “ And your own,” I added, for I saw he was 
 just as anxious though he would not own it. “ I 
 would rather you would ask Gay than I though. 
 You will most likely get in for it.” 
 
Gay has something on his mind. 
 
 161 
 
 “Never mind, if we find out what is the matter,” 
 said Ethelred boldly. 
 
 Gay hates being interrupted in his bath, and 
 he more strongly even hates being questioned 
 when he is in one of these moods. And we are 
 all afraid of Gay and respected his fancies ; even 
 Ethelred and myself, though we are several years 
 older. 
 
 Ethelred opened the door gently, just wide 
 enough to advance his right leg, and a small por¬ 
 tion of body and face. 
 
 “ Gay,” he said, in a mild voice. 
 
 No answer ; Gay had not heard. 
 
 “ Gay !” in a much louder key. 
 
 “ What do you want ?” shouted Gay. “ Get out, 
 will you ?” 
 
 “ Have you anything on your mind ?” asked 
 ^Ethelred, boldly venturing more of himself into the 
 room, but keeping hold of the door-handle. 
 
 “Yes,” shouted Gay with a violent splash that 
 sent drops of water to every part of the room, 
 
 M 
 
Mother Bunch. 
 
 162 
 
 “ My strength is as the strength of ten. 
 
 Get out, will you ?” 
 
 “ What is it ?” asked Ethelred, anxiously. “ Do 
 tell us.” 
 
 “ Because my heart is pure,” 
 
 screamed Gay. “ Will you get out ?” 
 
 Ethelred did not go, but had opened his mouth 
 to speak again, when Gay’s large bath sponge, full 
 of water, was thrown with such good aim, that 
 it hit him exactly on the nose. He shut the 
 door very quickly after that, you may be sure, 
 and we could not help laughing as we stood in 
 the passage outside the closed door. Gay al¬ 
 ways chooses the very largest bath sponge he 
 can buy, and the water from it filled Ethelred’s 
 mouth and ran down in streams upon his clean 
 shirt. 
 
 “ I shall have to change,” he said. “ I won’t be a 
 minute. Wait for me, Humfray.” 
 
 I sat upon the stairs to wait, and listened to 
 
Gay has something on his mind. 
 
 163 
 
 Gay’s splashing and wild chanting, which seemed 
 to be prolonged indefinitely. 
 
 Grandfather Sylvester we found was alone, for 
 mother, having a bad headache, had gone to lie 
 down. He had had his afternoon nap, and seemed 
 so glad of our company that we mentally said, 
 * Thank you,’ to the east wind for sending us in at 
 such an unusually early hour. 
 
 We told him about Gay and the sponge, at 
 which he was much amused, and he was able to 
 relieve our minds as to the reason why Gay had 
 had a bath. It was no fresh trouble concerning us 
 all, but a worry of Gay’s alone. He had been for 
 a stroll that afternoon, and had met a poor woman 
 who had told him .<*ich a heart-rending story of 
 misery and distress, that Gay was driven home in 
 a state of deep dejection. He had come straight 
 to Grandfather Sylvester, told him about it, and 
 said he had given the woman leave to come to the 
 house in an hour’s time, and he begged Grand¬ 
 father Sylvester to hear her story, and if he 
 
Mother Bunch. 
 
 164 
 
 thought it was true, to let him give her the money 
 he had saved to buy himself a new cricket-bat. 
 Ethelred and I both know how badly Gay wants 
 a new bat, for his old one has been in hospital 
 several times, and can’t hold out another season’s 
 play. 
 
 Grandfather Sylvester saw the woman when she 
 came, and approved of Gay’s plan, but he only 
 allowed Gay to give her sufficient money to keep 
 her in the necessaries of life for a certain time, but 
 told her to come again in a couple of days, and 
 then he sat down and wrote to a gentleman who 
 spends a great deal of time working amongst the 
 poor, and gave him her name and address, and 
 asked him to find out the best way of putting her 
 into a position of earning sufficient for the support 
 of herself and children. There the matter ended 
 for the present. 
 
 Then Grandfather Sylvester and Gay had a talk, 
 and Gay explained that he was so unhappy be¬ 
 cause he could not understand why some people 
 
Gay has something on his mind. 
 
 165 
 
 should have everything they wanted to make them 
 happy, while others had little or nothing. Why, 
 for instance, we should be so comfortable at the 
 House, where we had all we could reasonably re¬ 
 quire, and others, like this poor woman, should 
 be so miserable. Grandfather Sylvester told him 
 it was a thought which had puzzled older heads 
 and worried older hearts than Gay’s, and we could 
 only be thankful for our own mercies, and not rest 
 content until we had done whatever lay in our 
 power to help those who needed our help, whether 
 by giving our sympathy, our time, or our money, 
 or all three as we could, and as they were needed. 
 He repeated to us what he had said to Gay, that 
 if in the years to come we were ever to grow 
 rich, we should never live in luxury, but keeping 
 only “ enough” for ourselves, give away the re¬ 
 mainder. He pointed out that the beautiful cathe¬ 
 drals in the olden days would never have been 
 built if people had not thought first of God, next 
 of others, last of themselves. And he said he 
 
Mother Bunch . 
 
 166 
 
 should like to keep that spirit alive in us in this 
 nineteenth century and very different time. He 
 told us that after he had finished what he had to 
 say, Gay sat for a while looking into the fire and 
 not speaking. Then he said suddenly, 
 
 “ Grandfather Sylvester.” 
 
 And Grandfather Sylvester said, 
 
 “Yes, my boy.” 
 
 “ I am afraid that if any one knows I have 
 given away the money I had saved for a bat, 
 they will buy me one for a Christmas present.” 
 
 Grandfather Sylvester told us he felt very guilty 
 when Gay said that, for it was just what he really 
 was thinking of doing. Then Gay continued, 
 
 “ I want you to know that I would much rather 
 not have that bat given to me. Will you promise, 
 please ?” 
 
 Gay was so earnest, that Grandfather Sylvester 
 could only say, 
 
 “Yes, I promise. As Gordon would say, ‘ I 
 promise sure.’ ” 
 
Gay has something on his mind. 
 
 167 
 
 Then Gay went off and had his bath. 
 
 Mother told me afterwards, when I was speak¬ 
 ing to her upon the subject, that Grandfather Syl¬ 
 vester not only preaches, but practises. She said 
 that he really is quite a rich man, and that he 
 could, if he chose, keep a carriage and pair, and 
 horses for riding, and a house in town, which would 
 a few years ago have been a great pleasure to him, 
 as he is so fond of clever people, and the congenial 
 society which he would have gathered around him 
 there. Instead of which, he lives content the whole 
 year round in the one House in Cool-Dillay, which 
 is his own, and for which he pays no rent, and 
 his only “equipage” is a trap which fetches lug¬ 
 gage from the Station, drawn by an old horse that 
 has seen its best days. Mother says that he gives 
 nearly half his income away, and then much of 
 the remainder is spent upon us, leaving a mere 
 nothing for himself. And we have lived with him 
 all these years and never found this out! We 
 realised the truth of the remark Gay made when 
 
1 68 Mother Bunch . 
 
 we told him, which was, that “Grandfather Syl¬ 
 vester was a rich man who would get into 
 Heaven.” 
 
 We never let Grandfather Sylvester find out 
 that we knew this,—mother said it would only 
 vex him. But I hope we shall grow up the better 
 for the knowledge of it. When one person does a 
 very grand thing, it makes much more impression 
 
 upon you than if fifty or a hundred people talk of 
 doing it. 
 
 Gay came down to tea that evening looking as 
 if he had never had anything on his mind. He 
 was only so very qlated at having taken such good 
 aim with his sponge at Ethelred’s nose. Ethelred’s 
 thoughts were elsewhere, however, and no amount 
 
 of “crowing” upon the part of Gay could get a 
 rise out of him. 
 
 Gay’s poor woman was soon happily settled. 
 The gentleman to whom Grandfather Sy^yester 
 applied, found she came from a little village not 
 far from Brighton, and that she was longing to 
 
Gay has something on his mind. 
 
 169 
 
 return there, but had not the means. Grandfather 
 Sylvester bought a tiny cottage with a piece of 
 garden stocked with vegetables at the back of it; 
 and he got her sewing-machine out of pawn, and 
 she said that with it she could earn plenty, and be 
 only too happy and content. 
 
 We went over to see her before we left Brighton, 
 at least, mother, Gay, Ethelred, and myself, and 
 we found her so cheerful and grateful, and the 
 puny children daily growing stronger. But that 
 was later on, only I have put it down now to end 
 the account of Gay’s poor woman. 
 
 When we returned from Cuckfield, Grandfather 
 Sylvester asked Gay if he felt more contented, and 
 Gay said, 
 
 “But that is only one , Grandfather Sylvester, 
 and there are such numbers.” 
 
 And Grandfather Sylvester answered, 
 
 “We can but do our best,—having done that, 
 we must leave the rest in the hands of God. 
 When you grow up, Gay, I hope, God willing, 
 
170 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 you may do great things. Now you must be 
 content to— 
 
 * Do the work that’s nearest. 
 
 Though it’s dull at whiles ; 
 
 Helping, when you meet them, 
 
 Lame dogs over stiles. ’ 
 
 The poor woman was your ‘ lame dog,’ Gay. But 
 for your having had compassion upon her first, I 
 should never have taken an interest in her. Be 
 satisfied with her for a beginning.” 
 
 “ It takes a long while to grow up,” said Gay, 
 shaking his head. 
 
 Then he went off and had a bath,—after which 
 he was more cheerful. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ^umftag tells tfje <£torjj. 
 
 BILL AND NAN’S INDEPENDENCE. 
 
 'll 7 E could not make out what had happened 
 ^ * to Bill and Nan. For a few days they 
 were so very—obliging—I was going to write, but 
 Ethelred says cringing. By whichever name I call 
 it, they have been most unlike their two usual 
 selves. I thought it was that the affair of the 
 policeman had sobered them, and that they had 
 turned over a new leaf. Ethelred says I know 
 nothing about it and that we must wait and see. 
 
 They were so anxious to please and always on 
 the look-out for any opportunity of running er- 
 
IJ2 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 rands, fetching things we require from upstairs, or 
 going upon messages. Unfortunately, as Ethelred 
 and I remark, these attentions are so new to them 
 that they blunder over them, and are more worry 
 than help. In jumping up to get Grandfather 
 Sylvester a book he was asking for, they upset a 
 little table upon which stood a vase of flowers ; 
 the vase was broken, the water sent over the carpet. 
 Mother wanted her knitting from her bed-room, 
 ^Nan let the ball roll out of her hands, the wool 
 caught in the banisters, the thread broke. Grand¬ 
 father Sylvester left his spectacles in the dining¬ 
 room ; Bill would rush after them, and, in his 
 hurry, caught his foot in a mat, fell full length 
 upon the floor, and both glasses were smashed. 
 
 After those and sundry other accidents, we told 
 Bill and Nan that we were very much obliged for 
 their good intentions, but we thought they had 
 better give up the idea of being attentive, it did 
 not suit them. Grandfather Sylvester thought we 
 were hard upon them, but his eyes and all our eyes 
 
i 73 
 
 Bill and Nan's Independence. 
 
 —Ethelred said his had never been shut—were 
 opened a few days later. 
 
 For an entire morning, much to our astonish¬ 
 ment, they were locked in their rooms writing- 
 
 o 
 
 letters. They trusted no one, but posted the let¬ 
 ters with their own hands at the nearest pillar¬ 
 box. 
 
 That same evening we were lingering over our 
 tea and a silence had fallen upon us, for our 
 thoughts and words had been of Ikkey, the 
 chances, alas ! of finding him seeming fewer every 
 day. The silence was broken by Nan, who cleared 
 her throat noisily, put her head on one side, and 
 said, insinuatingly, 
 
 “ Grandfather Sylvester ?” 
 
 Ethelred, Gay, and myself sat up, on the alert 
 at once. Now would be explained the mystery of 
 their attentions. I am sure Grandfather Sylvester 
 had his suspicions also, for his eyes twinkled as 
 he glanced at us, but he only stroked his mous¬ 
 tache and answered very quietly, 
 
174 
 
 Mother Bunch . 
 
 “ Well, Nan, what is it?” 
 
 Nan plaited the tablecloth and gave Bill a 
 nudge, but he said in a whisper, meant to be heard 
 only by her, but perfectly audible all round the 
 table, 
 
 “ You said you would start it, you know.” 
 
 And Nan in another whisper, equally well heard, 
 
 “ But I have begun.” 
 
 Bill’s look implied such contempt of the “ begin¬ 
 ning” that Nan was urged to start afresh,—rather 
 shakily this time. 
 
 “ Grandfather Sylvester ?” 
 
 And Grandfather Sylvester in exactly the same 
 voice and words as before, answered, 
 
 “ Well, Nan, what is it ?” 
 
 Nan made a desperate plunge. 
 
 “ Next Saturday is our birthday.” 
 
 “ How quickly time goes,” said Grandfather Syl¬ 
 vester. “ It seems only the other day you had a 
 birthday.” 
 
 “ But it really is our birthday,” said Bill, anxi- 
 
Bill and Nads Independence. 
 
 175 
 
 ously. “ We are not humbugging you, Grand¬ 
 father Sylvester.” 
 
 “ You mean you are not telling an untruth,” said 
 Grandfather Sylvester gravely. “ I hope not in¬ 
 deed. I was only thinking how much I wish that 
 with additional years came also additional wisdom. 
 I fear you are quite as thoughtless as you were a 
 year ago.” 
 
 They hung their heads. There was another long 
 silence, then Grandfather Sylvester said, 
 
 “ And now, what is it you want ? For I suppose 
 this is to lead to something.” 
 
 They revived at once. It takes such a little to 
 set them up. 
 
 “ Upon our birthday,” said Bill, “ we always get 
 birthday presents.” 
 
 “ I beg to state,” said Ethelred, “ that what hap¬ 
 pens one year is not in the least likely to happen 
 another. I for one had totally forgotten you had a 
 birthday at all.” 
 
 “ So had I,” I said. 
 
176 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 “We should not have allowed you to forget, we 
 should have reminded you,” said Nan. 
 
 “ That I do not doubt,” said Ethelred. “ You 
 will lose nothing for the want of asking for 
 it. You have reminded us now,—that is suf¬ 
 ficient.” 
 
 “ Yes,” answered Bill, “ but we were going to ask 
 you not to give us any birthday presents this 
 time.” 
 
 “ Oh,” said Ethelred. “ I am only too happy to 
 fall into that view of the matter. You have risen 
 numberless degrees in my good opinion. I never 
 thought—” 
 
 “ Oh,” interrupted Nan, eagerly, “ but we want 
 the money instead of the presents.” 
 
 We did not think that even their assurance could 
 be equal to this. 
 
 “You do not mind, do you, Grandfather Syl¬ 
 vester ?” asked Bill. 
 
 “ I am afraid,” said Grandfather Sylvester, “ that 
 I could not give you the money. I would do so 
 
177 
 
 Bill and Nads Independence. 
 
 readily if I could trust you sufficiently to be sure 
 that it would be properly spent.” 
 
 “ ^ is a secret, Grandfather Sylvester,” said Nan, 
 “ something we have wanted for a long time. We 
 have written to mother to tell her.” 
 
 “If your mother approves of your plan then I 
 will give money. But only upon that condition,” 
 answered Grandfather Sylvester. 
 
 The letter from Cousin Constance arrived next 
 morning. They showed it all round, and I wonder 
 they did, for it was a very grave letter, and spoke 
 much of the disappointment they had been to her 
 in the year past and her earnest hope that they 
 would leave their thoughtless ways behind them 
 and do better for the future. She said they caused 
 her much anxious prayer, and she begged them to 
 pray the more earnestly themselves that God 
 would help them to conquer their faults. She sent 
 them half-a-crown, and said it would have been 
 double, but she did not feel they deserved it. She 
 said nothing about their choice of a present, but 
 
 N 
 
i 7 8 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 we concluded from her silence that she did not 
 disapprove, or she would have expressed her dis¬ 
 approval in words. 
 
 They had a grave talking-to from Grandfather 
 Sylvester also, and his present was five shillings. 
 Again only half of what they would have had if 
 they had been more steady. 
 
 Ethelred gave one shilling, so did I. We told 
 them we could not forget the sheep dinners, and 
 we gave our donation very unwillingly. The same 
 remark was made by Phyllis and Sylvia, to whom 
 they had written, and who each sent sixpence ; 
 Isabel sent them two shillings, and mother gave 
 them two shillings ; Gordon sent two penny stamps ; 
 Gay said he didn’t go in for birthday presents, and 
 had not any money,—we knew the reason why,— 
 but that they were welcome to whatever they could 
 find in his pockets. These upon being turned out 
 were found to produce a lucky threepenny bit, one 
 penny, two farthings, and an old coin. The coin 
 they returned to him, the rest they kept. 
 
Bill and Nads Independence. 
 
 179 
 
 Vera gave them sixpence, which was all her 
 money-box contained, for she is a generous little 
 soul, but she gave it with her whole heart, and put 
 both her arms round their necks and loved them 
 so sweetly that Nan’s eyes were filled with tears, 
 and Bill was heard to complain in a very gruff 
 voice that he had taken too much pepper at dinner. 
 
 I believe if there is any person in the world for 
 
 « 
 
 whom the twins care, except themselves, that 
 person is Mother Bunch. 
 
 We remembered to give Bill and Nan our best 
 wishes upon their birthday, but the wonderful pre¬ 
 sent they were going to make themselves quite went 
 out of our head. We were a smaller party than usual 
 for tea, for mother had gone to spend the evening 
 with a friend, and Gay was dining with Brown 
 senior and junior at the Bedford, for they were 
 still here. We had not much of a birthday cake 
 either, for it was only one of those stupid Madeira 
 cakes from a confectioner’s. Being in lodgings we 
 could not have a real nice home-made cake with a 
 
i8o 
 
 Mother Bunch . 
 
 sugar top, and I suppose mother had forgotten that 
 we none of us care for Madeira. 
 
 Grandfather Sylvester said grace, and we had 
 just sat down, when there came a succession of 
 rings at the bell, one peal after another. 
 
 “What a number of parcels seem to be arriving,” 
 said Grandfather Sylvester. 
 
 Here Frederick opened the door, and we looked 
 at him in amazement, for his face was creased until 
 hardly any features were visible, and he disap¬ 
 peared and appeared again, still holding the door, 
 but seemingly unable, from some cause or other, to 
 speak. 
 
 Bill pulled up his shirt-collar, and looked the 
 picture of independence as he said with a conse¬ 
 quential air, which made Ethelred afterwards de¬ 
 clare he should like to have whipped him, 
 
 “ It is all right, Grandfather Sylvester, I expect 
 it is something Nan and I ordered. Tell the man 
 to wait, Frederick. We will speak to him after 
 tea.” 
 
Bill and Nan's Independence. 
 
 181 
 
 Just then a perfect Babel of voices arose from 
 the hall. 
 
 “ Mew, mew.” 
 
 “ Bow-wow-wow.” 
 
 Then a violent coughing ; then a peal of laugh¬ 
 ter ; then a sneezing as if some one had a dreadful 
 cold. Then a voice of entreaty, 
 
 “ Do give a bit to poor Polly.” 
 
 Then a scolding voice, 
 
 “ Oh you rascal!” 
 
 Then a whistling ; then the cracking as of a pistol 
 going off, then a noise as of an engine letting off 
 steam. Then, 
 
 “ Pretty Polly.” 
 
 “ Good night, Polly.” 
 
 “ What’s the time o’ day ?” very gruffly like a man. 
 
 Then, “ Cock-a-doodle-do.” 
 
 Then, “ Oh, you beast,” and so on. 
 
 We sat perfectly amazed ; Bill and Nan in a 
 high state of glee ; Frederick still appearing and 
 disappearing. 
 
182 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 “You had better shut the door, Frederick,” said 
 Grandfather Sylvester, who evidently suspected the 
 state of the case, “ and tell the man to sit down and 
 wait as Master William directed.” 
 
 “ What a beauty it is,” said Nan, “ and what a 
 great many things it has learned to say.” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Bill, “ I thought we were setting the 
 right way to work.” 
 
 “ Please, sir ?” 
 
 “Well, Frederick, what is it ?” asked Grandfather 
 Sylvester. “ You have had your orders.” 
 
 “ Which man am I to tell to wait, sir ?” 
 
 “How many are there?” inquired Grandfather 
 Sylvester quietly. 
 
 “ Nine, sir. And each of them has got a parrot.” 
 
 “Then the nine had better wait until Master 
 William can attend to them.” 
 
 We could not help laughing to see how limp Bill 
 and Nan became at once. All the starchness went 
 out of Bill as he said hopelessly, “ We only ordered 
 one , Grandfather Sylvester, not nine.” 
 
Bill and Nads Independence. 
 
 183 
 
 Upon being questioned it seemed that they had 
 set their hearts upon a talking parrot, and their 
 friend the donkey-boy said that a “ chum” of his 
 had the very bird to suit them. Upon being cross- 
 examined—which is always necessary with the 
 twins if you really want to get to the bottom of a 
 matter—they confessed they might have mentioned 
 it to one or two sailors on the beach. 
 
 Grandfather Sylvester said nothing but “ Oh.” 
 We saw he meant to give Bill and Nan a lesson. 
 We never do anything without consulting Grand¬ 
 father Sylvester, and it is a joke against Sylvia that 
 she asked his opinion once, very anxiously, as to 
 whether he would rather Phyllis and herself had 
 cream or pale pink for their best summer dresses. 
 Grandfather, much amused, said that a lady’s dress 
 was a subject upon which he could not possibly 
 venture to give an opinion, but he was sure he 
 should like best the colour that they chose them¬ 
 selves. 
 
 Sylvia said, “We rather prefer the cream.” 
 
184 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 And Grandfather Sylvester answered, 
 
 “Then cream, by all means, let it be,” and 
 Sylvia went away satisfied. 
 
 So Bill and Nan’s independence disgusted us, 
 and we hoped they were going to have a lesson. 
 They speedily recovered themselves now, however, 
 and Bill said grandly, 
 
 “ After all, it is a very good thing there are nine 
 parrots,—we shall be able to choose the one we 
 like best.” 
 
 Grandfather Sylvester said, 
 
 “You certainly will have the advantage of 
 choice,” and his eyes twinkled as he glanced at 
 Ethelred and me. 
 
 The noise in the hall was deafening, and we 
 begged Bill and Nan to hurry over their tea, and 
 send some of the men away. They were taking 
 matters easily, not quite being able to agree as to 
 which bird they should choose: Bill inclining to 
 the one that said, “Oh you rascal!” Nan to the 
 one that sneezed. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 * 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
I’AGIt 185. 
 
Bill and Nads Independence. 
 
 185 
 
 They were undecided as they went out of the 
 room. We listened eagerly. Bill at first very 
 lordly; then more mild; then the men’s voices 
 extolling their parrots in persuasive tones; then 
 waxing insolent, declaring they were not going to 
 be brought all that way for nothing, and so on. 
 
 After a while the door opened, and a very 
 flushed Nan appeared, who, with the meekest of 
 manners, and in a voice we never heard from her 
 before, begged Grandfather Sylvester to “ Please 
 come and help Bill.” 
 
 The very sight of Grandfather Sylvester stopped 
 the men’s voices at once, and his task of sending 
 them away was a very easy one. He inquired 
 how much Bill and Nan had to spend. The whole 
 of their contributions had not made up quite 
 one pound, and all the talking parrots were from 
 £10 to £20. These were at once dismissed, 
 and when our curiosity led us into the hall, we 
 found there was but one parrot that could be pur¬ 
 chased with the money the twins had,—and this 
 
Mother Bunch . 
 
 186 
 
 was a most dejected-looking bird, with only half 
 a tail. 
 
 “ Can he talk ?” Nan inquired. 
 
 “He only wants lamin’,” said the man, “and 
 then he’ll talk beautiful.” 
 
 The money was paid, the parrot bought, and 
 with it a lesson which Bill and Nan will really re¬ 
 member. They were quite grateful to Grandfather 
 Sylvester for his help, and Bill muttered some¬ 
 thing about always asking his advice in the future. 
 It was a great deal for Bill to say. 
 
 The parrot sits upon his perch, and seems very- 
 miserable. Bill and Nan already bitterly regret 
 the money wasted upon it, for we do not think it 
 will ever utter a word. * I believe they talk of 
 giving it to Mother Bunch, who makes much of it 
 because it is “ so unhappy.” It takes very little to 
 win Mother Bunch’s heart,—you have only to say 
 you are unhappy, and her love goes out to you 
 at once. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 iotorg tells itself, 
 
 CHRISTMAS ROSES IN PLACE OF FORGET-ME- 
 
 NOTS. 
 
 T TERA was the only member of Grandfather 
 * Sylvester’s family who took no part in the 
 discussion about Ikkey, their hopes and disappoint¬ 
 ments. She never mentioned him. If in her daily 
 walks her grave eyes searched the King’s Road, 
 beach, and streets, she said nothing. She came 
 and went much the same as at Cool-Dillay, only 
 she was not allowed out alone ; but Frederick, who 
 had little to do, was told off, to his great delight, 
 to accompany her upon her expeditions. 
 
 December rushed in, dispelling the mild, balmy 
 
188 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 November. No longer any boating ; no rain as 
 yet, but clouds hurrying madly to and fro ; white 
 horses riding the waves ; the sea rushing in with a 
 steady, threatening swish, swish , upon the shingle, 
 as if it held its power in reserve and was explaining 
 that something much worse might be looked for in 
 the future. 
 
 It was difficult to get Vera from the sea, which 
 had a wonderful fascination for her: she never 
 tired of it. One afternoon she had intended to 
 go to Rottingdean, escorted by the faithful Fre¬ 
 derick, when at the last moment they had an 
 errand to do for Grandfather Sylvester quite in a 
 different direction, and Rottingdean was postponed 
 until another day. 
 
 They returned down West Street. Frederick 
 knew Miss Vera’s ways well, and was quite sure 
 she would not pass S. Paul’s without entering, so 
 as a matter of course, the two turned into the long 
 corridor ; Frederick pushed open the heavy door, 
 and they walked in. 
 
Christmas Roses in place of Forget-me-nots. 189 
 
 It was four o’clock in the afternoon, and was 
 dark inside ; Vera took a few steps up the centre 
 aisle, and then stopped. In a corner of the seat 
 near to her knelt a man, his face half concealed by 
 his hands. Vera waited for a second to be quite 
 sure, then stepped lightly to him, and putting one 
 arm across his shoulders as he knelt, she whispered 
 distinctly in her soft, slow voice, 
 
 “ Ikkey, the ring is found.” 
 
 Ikkey withdrew his hands and started : the colour 
 flew into his face, his lips quivered, his brown eyes 
 filled with tears, he would have shouted aloud in 
 the very joy of his heart, if the sight of Vera’s 
 grave, tranquil face had not brought to his memory 
 the place in which he was. She was as quiet and 
 composed as if it was only yesterday they had 
 parted, and she was telling him “ it was a stormy 
 day.” 
 
 “ GOD bless you, Miss Vera,” he said huskily. 
 
 Vera smiled, and knelt down by his side, and 
 together they said their prayers—both, no doubt, 
 
Mother Bunch . 
 
 190 
 
 thanksgivings. Alas, and alas, how little Nature 
 is one with us. She is sad ofttimes when we are 
 happy, and when our hearts are breaking she is 
 laughing merrily, as if in scorn. It was in a 
 church Ikkey had last seen Vera when the sun in 
 the west had thrown the colours of the windows 
 upon the pavement, staining it richly with amber, 
 purple, gold and red : when the birds sang their 
 sweetest; when the trees rustled softly and the 
 jasmine scented the air. But then he was wretched, 
 miserable ; for a stain rested upon his character, 
 and, until the cloud lifted, he would not return to 
 those he loved. It was in a church he next saw 
 Vera, and no sunshine melted the colours in the 
 windows, no birds sang, no flowers gave out their 
 sweetness. There was the gathering of the even¬ 
 ing shadows and the wind swept round the build- 
 ing slowly, thoughtfully, as if it was meditating 
 getting up its strength for a storm, and was sigh¬ 
 ing to itself, and half-repenting of the mischief it 
 would do ere the night was over. Only Vera was 
 
Christmas Roses in place of Forget-me-nots. 191 
 
 alike in the two scenes ; she had shown him the 
 means of comfort in the first, and in the second she 
 had brought him the good news which had filled 
 his heart with joy and thankfulness. Now he could 
 return to Cool-Dillay with his character cleared in 
 the minds of those who had doubted. 
 
 The boys and Nancy were out, only Grandfather 
 Sylvester and Humfray’s mother were keeping 
 blind-man’s holiday by the side of a comfortable 
 fire, when the door was gently opened, and Vera’s 
 soft voice said, 
 
 “ Grandfather Sylvester, Ikkey has come.” 
 
 Grandfather Sylvester was leaning back in his 
 arm-chair, but he straightened himself, and was 
 broad awake the moment the name, which was a 
 worry and nightmare to him, fell upon his ear: for 
 the reason he was backward in recovering his 
 strength was the trouble he was in about Ikkey. He 
 was a just and good man, and it vexed him sorely 
 that, through the carelessness of any member of his 
 family, suspicion should fall upon the innocent. 
 
192 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 Ikkey received a glad welcome from those at 
 home first; from the others when they came in. 
 He had also a small scolding for having run away 
 and not stood to his colours as was the duty of a 
 brave soldier. They discovered that it was he to 
 whom Dann had spoken, but upon his way back 
 to his lodgings that evening, he overheard that a 
 gardener at Cliftonville wanted temporary assist¬ 
 ance. He obtained the place, and his time there 
 had ended the day he was found. He privately 
 informed “ Miss Vera” that he always went into 
 a church now if he found it open, to say his 
 prayers, and it was upon his return from Clifton¬ 
 ville that he went into S. Paul’s and Vera found 
 him. It was just her usual luck, the boys said. 
 Ikkey had no idea the family from the House 
 were at Brighton. He had not written, because 
 he had had no regular work ; only lived from 
 hand to mouth, sometimes not getting coppers 
 enough to pay for a night’s lodging. If he had 
 told Annie this she would have sent him money, 
 
Christmas Roses in place of Forget-me-nots. 193 
 
 and that he would not have taken. He had in¬ 
 tended, now he had money to pay his fare, to 
 make his way back to London the day after 
 his work was ended at Cliftonville, try his for¬ 
 tune there again, and if he succeeded, write to 
 Annie then. 
 
 Grandfather Sylvester grew more himself now 
 that this burden was removed from him. As the 
 air seemed to suit him some of them stayed on at 
 Brighton for a while longer ; Bill and Nancy how¬ 
 ever were sent back with Ikkey, and the others 
 followed in time for Christmas. 
 
 Among its festivities came the marriage of Annie 
 and Ikkey, Vera of course being chief bridesmaid. 
 It was upon the festival of Vera’s kind old Saint 
 John ; and his smile, to her fancy, seemed brighter 
 and more loving that day as, in his blue gown from 
 his place in the window, he was among the wedding 
 party and held his share—a silent one—in the ser¬ 
 vices. The only flowers Vera could find to strew 
 before the bride and bridegroom were Christmas 
 
 O 
 
194 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 roses, which bloomed in quantities round the House 
 and which were particularly large and snowy white, 
 unsoiled by contact with the mould. Her basket 
 was piled high with them, for she had gathered all 
 she could find. She had tea with the young couple 
 in the afternoon, by their express wish. They were 
 to live in Sykes’s cottage, the furniture of which had 
 been the wedding present of the people old and 
 young at the House. 
 
 In the happiness of the present, Vera did not 
 forget the past. Annie and Ikkey filled Daddy 
 Sykes’s rooms at the cottage, but they could not 
 push him from his place in her heart. She thought 
 of him always when she was there, until she almost 
 fancied she saw him in his garden, bent double 
 with rheumatism, but ready to give her a friendly 
 greeting as he held out to her, over the gate, his 
 daily posy of flowers. 
 
 Mr. Pippo spared a few days for them at Christ¬ 
 mas, but was a great worry to them. He was very 
 unnaturally thin, and his face seemed “ all eyes.” 
 
Christmas Roses in place of Forget-me-nots. 195 
 
 Humfray and Ethelred said he could be seen 
 through ; Gay said he would be like Augustus in 
 the nursery story, who refused his bread-and-milk 
 and grew daily thinner, until at last he vanished 
 altogether. He was working very hard at his pic¬ 
 ture, and feverishly anxious about its getting into 
 the Royal Academy. Grandfather Sylvester looked 
 grave over it, and said Mr. Pippo had set his heart 
 so much upon the matter that he was afraid, if 
 it failed, the shock in his delicate health would 
 almost, if not quite, kill him. 
 
 It was as Humfray said, the world was full of 
 trouble. Ikkey absent, and perhaps starving, was 
 no sooner off their minds than there was Mr. Pippo 
 weighing heavily upon them. Ted Congreive said 
 he did what he could, but there was little to be 
 done, as Pippo Stevens was too proud to accept 
 help. He had nothing to live upon, except what 
 he earned, and he devoted so much attention to 
 perfecting the important picture that he really left 
 himself not enough time in which to earn money 
 
 / 
 
196 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 to procure for himself the necessaries of life. If 
 the picture did succeed he was going to take Vera 
 as a model for a sacred subject; but his lips quivered 
 and his thin, shapely brown hands moved restlessly 
 as he said, 
 
 “If I succeed.” 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 P^ttmftag tells tlje iStarg. 
 
 WHO STOLE THE CAKE ? 
 
 T I have had a great piece of good news : it 
 
 * * is this: our picture has been accepted at 
 
 the Royal Academy. 
 
 We always thought Mr. Pippo would succeed, 
 he is such a clever artist, but he was very nervous 
 and uncertain himself about it, and although you 
 may be almost sure in your own mind, there is 
 nothing like being quite certain ; and that is just 
 what we are now. Mr. Pippo sent us a telegram 
 directly he knew himself. There were only four 
 words, but they were enough, for they said, “ I 
 have been successful.” 
 
Mother Bunch. 
 
 198 
 
 And all the world will look upon our picture. 
 Grandfather Sylvester rather damped our joy by 
 saying that Mr. Pippo would be almost as anxious 
 as ever, until he knew what the critics said about 
 it. Phyllis said, what a pity there were such things 
 as critics, and Grandfather Sylvester said they were 
 necessary and useful—sometimes. 
 
 Last year what with Grandfathers illness, Ikkey 
 and Mr. Pippo starving, the loss of the ring, Syl¬ 
 via’s disgrace, and the eating of that unfortunate 
 sheep,—we have hated mutton ever since,—we 
 seem to have had nothing but trouble. This year 
 is beginning beautifully. Not only is our picture 
 hung upon the walls of the Academy, but we are 
 to go and see it. 
 
 Mr. Pippo begged so hard that Grandfather Syl¬ 
 vester had not the heart to refuse, and at last 
 consented to take us. We were so delighted, and 
 thanked him over and over again for his kindness. 
 We are all to go except Vera and Gordon, even Bill 
 and Nan. They were not intended to go at first, 
 
Who stole the Cake ? 
 
 199 
 
 they are always such a responsibility. When they 
 heard this they sat upon two chairs and cried, and 
 pointed out amid their sobs that it was Pat's like¬ 
 ness,—they quite forgot Vera by-the-bye. Grand¬ 
 father Sylvester, who is most kind, relented, upon 
 condition that they gave him their word of honour 
 that they would behave properly. They promised 
 eagerly, but the worst of them is they will promise 
 anything and immediately forget. Grandfather 
 Sylvester privately asked Ethelred and myself if 
 we would devote ourselves to them that day and 
 not let them out of our sight. We said that we 
 would, and we mean to keep our word, for we do 
 not want him to be worried. He did not think at 
 first that he should be able to go; since his illness 
 he has not been so strong, and the fatigue would 
 have been too much for him if he had not com¬ 
 bined business with pleasure and managed it that 
 way. He is going up to London the day before 
 about the publishing of his book, and will sleep 
 there, thus having only the one journey each day. 
 
200 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 We have tickets for the artists’ day, the last day of 
 April, and when people in general are not ad¬ 
 mitted. This in itself is delightful, for we shall 
 see the artists themselves and other celebrated 
 characters, and it is nice to feel you are where 
 everybody cannot be. Grandfather Sylvester says 
 this is a “ mean idea,” but, all the same, we 
 think it. 
 
 The eventful day has passed, and we had a 
 beautiful time. To begin at the beginning, which 
 of course is Bill and Nan. We dreaded them. 
 Ethelred’s first words when he was dressing were, 
 
 “ We have got to take those youngsters in tow 
 to-day.” 
 
 They were a great trouble, even in the train. 
 When they travelled to Brighton they were sub¬ 
 dued by Grandfather Sylvester’s illness and by his 
 presence, and were obliged to keep tolerably quiet. 
 On the journey up to town they were in the 
 wildest spirits, and Ethelred said they reminded 
 him of nothing so much as a couple of ginger- 
 
Who stole the Cake ? 
 
 201 
 
 beer corks. When Cousin Constance spoke to 
 them they sat quiet for a short time, then there 
 was a sudden plunge, and before you could 
 
 look round they were hanging half out of the 
 window. 
 
 When we reached Victoria, Ethelred took hold 
 of Bill as firmly as if he had been a policeman 
 leading him off to the police-station, and I tucked 
 Nancy s arm in mine. When they saw anything 
 particular they made a dash, but we were taller 
 and stronger, and did not relax our hold upon 
 them until we arrived at the Academy, where Mr. 
 Pippo and Grandfather were already waiting for 
 us. The former was very nervous, for I noticed 
 how white his lips were, and his hand was trem¬ 
 bling when he shook hands with us. He did not 
 
 ask us if we had had a pleasant journey, but only 
 said, 
 
 “ It 1S hung in a very good place.” 
 
 “ You must take us to it at once,” said mother. 
 
 The rooms were quite full, and if Grandfather 
 
202 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 Sylvester looked much about him I am sure he 
 must have altered his opinion that people of genius 
 are just like everybody else. He explained after¬ 
 wards that he meant themselves and not their out¬ 
 side appearance, but even then I am sure he is 
 mistaken, and I told him so, for how could they do 
 great things if they were ordinary ? He laughed 
 and said he must retract, or rather that I misun¬ 
 derstood him, for they were like other people so 
 far as their manners and the “ society” part of 
 them were concerned. 
 
 We could only follow Mr. Pippo one at a time, 
 twisting in and out to avoid treading upon toes 
 and trains. Bill and Nan got into trouble several 
 times, for I heard two or three ladies cry “ Oh,” 
 gathering up their trains and glancing crossly over 
 their shoulder. 
 
 At last we stood in front of our picture, and 
 even if Mr. Pippo had not painted it and it had 
 not been our picture, we should have all agreed it 
 was out and out the best thing there. It was so 
 
Who stole the Cake ? 
 
 203 
 
 much better than we had expected even, for our 
 memories of it were when it was in a most un¬ 
 finished state. 
 
 Vera was just herself, with her grave, pale, sweet 
 face, and what Grandfather Sylvester calls her 
 “ great starry eyes,” and Pat’s colouring was true 
 to life. Vera, dressed in cream cashmere with a 
 gold-coloured sash, is holding up the two fingers 
 of her right hand as a rebuke to Pat, the left rests 
 upon the ground, and she is leaning a little upon 
 it, which pushes her shoulder above her dress. 
 The background is formed by the window in 
 Grandfather Sylvester’s study, which is almost con¬ 
 cealed by long, heavy curtains, falling in straight 
 folds from the top of the window to the floor. 
 Mr. Pippo has painted the curtains a dull olive 
 green, in reality they are crimson,—the ones in the 
 study I mean. 
 
 When we had admired to our heart’s content, 
 we crowded round Mr. Pippo to congratulate him. 
 He is very dark, and while we were talking to him 
 
204 
 
 MotJier Bunch. 
 
 I noticed the dusky red colour, which always 
 comes when he is nervous or excited, creep into 
 his cheeks, and his hands moved restlessly. I 
 turned round, following the direction of his eyes; 
 two gentlemen, their backs towards us, were stand¬ 
 ing before our picture, and Mr. Pippo whispered 
 with a catch in his breath, 
 
 “ The President of the Royal Academy.” 
 
 I do not know whether it was mean to listen ; 
 I should think that remarks made in a public 
 place are public property. Whether it was mean 
 or not we did listen, even Grandfather Sylvester did 
 not move out of ear-shot, and we all stayed, hold¬ 
 ing our breath, not to miss a word. 
 
 “ It is well painted,” said one gentleman. 
 
 “ Very well,” said the other, the President, as 
 Mr. Pippo had whispered to us. “The colouring 
 is harmonious: the brilliant red colour of the 
 dog contrasts well with the fairness of the child 
 and the subdued tones of her dress ; the whole set 
 off by the heavy curtains of sombre green for a 
 
Who stole the Cake ? 
 
 205 
 
 background. The expression of the child’s face is 
 very good ; the grave rebuke in eyes and attitude 
 difficult to catch in one so young.” 
 
 “ The colouring of the dog has a defect: it is 
 splendid, but not nature. There never lived any 
 dog of such a brilliant shade of colour.” 
 
 If it had not been for the good results which 
 followed, I should really be ashamed to write what 
 happened next. Bill and Nan were listening 
 eagerly with open mouths, when suddenly they made 
 a dart at the gentlemen and hung upon their coats. 
 
 “ Indeed, sir,” said Nan in a loud voice, “ he is 
 exactly the real true colour. Mr. Pippo has 
 painted him beautifully. He cut off a curl of his 
 hair to match it with his paints.” 
 
 “ He is our very own dog,” said Bill, in an 
 aggrieved voice, “ so we ought to know.” 
 
 “ But if you think we are not speaking the truth, 
 we could bring him up to London that you might 
 see for yourselves,” said Nan. 
 
 It happened in such a short time, and before we 
 
20 6 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 had recovered ourselves, Grandfather Sylvester was 
 making his apologies for Bill and Nan. The Pre¬ 
 sident saw he was vexed, and begged he would not 
 dream of apologizing, as he was sure his friend 
 would be very glad to be set right. The gentle¬ 
 man then came forward and said he was a great 
 lover of animals, and when he had said he thought 
 the colouring unreal he was speaking from ex¬ 
 perience, as, though he had seen many Irish set¬ 
 ters, he never remembered one of such a brilliant 
 hue, and that the dog in question must be a very 
 handsome fellow. Then the President asked if the 
 child was a portrait. 
 
 Grandfather Sylvester said, “ Yes, it is a very 
 good likeness.” 
 
 During this time Mr. Pippo had been standing 
 almost hidden by Grandfather Sylvester, who is so 
 very tall. He had been growing more and more 
 nervous, first the red coming into his cheeks, then 
 so pale, that we thought he must be ill. Grand¬ 
 father Sylvester turned and said, 
 
Who stole the Cake ? 
 
 207 
 
 “ The artist who painted the picture can tell you 
 more than I. Mr. Pippo Stevens.” 
 
 Mr. Pippo pulled himself together and bowed, 
 the President said something nice to him about our 
 picture, and then bowed to all of us and passed on. 
 I think he would have stayed longer talking, but 
 quite a crowd had collected, and we were blocking 
 up the road. 
 
 The tears were in Mr. Pippo’s eyes as we went 
 on our way. It is so sad and pathetic to see a 
 man cry. It does not matter so much for girls 
 and women, because it is more natural to them 
 somehow, but with a man it is different. The 
 whole of that day he was in a sort of dream, but 
 I am sure he was very happy. We wanted to take 
 him back with us, but he said he must not give him¬ 
 self a holiday yet; when he could leave conscien¬ 
 tiously, then he would run down to us if we would 
 have him. He sent to Vera his very best love and 
 a large paper parcel. We gave it to her the next 
 day ; it was a splendid edition, beautifully illus- 
 
208 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 trated and bound, of Hans Andersen’s fairy 
 stories. 
 
 We were very quiet upon our journey home, for 
 Grandfather Sylvester was tired and we wanted 
 him to have a nap. Even Bill and Nan did no¬ 
 thing worse than kick , and as they were sitting 
 opposite to each other they did not inconvenience 
 any one else with restless feet. Cousin Constance 
 is going to make them sit quite still for a certain 
 time every day, after the example of a great man 
 whose mother made him do the same. We hope 
 it will improve them, but we think Cousin Con¬ 
 stance ought to have begun earlier. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 pfttmftag mbs tj)e Stor^f. 
 
 MR. PIPPO’S FORTUNE. 
 
 T T 7" E had been home a few days, when a letter 
 came from Mr. Pippo, and, by the same 
 post, one from the President inviting Grandfather 
 Sylvester, mother, Vera, Bill, Nancy, and Pat, to 
 have luncheon with him at his own house. He was 
 anxious, he said, to make the acquaintance of the 
 two who sat for their portraits in Mr. Pippo Ste¬ 
 vens’ picture. 
 
 Mr. Pippo’s letter was written in an excited 
 state, we could tell, for a number of words were 
 scratched out, and there were several blots. 
 
 P 
 
210 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 The President had really liked our picture so 
 much that he had bought it, asking Mr. Pippo if 
 he would mind if he altered the name, which was 
 the only thing of which he did not quite approve. 
 So instead of being called, “ Who stole the cake ?” 
 it is to be for the future, “A grave rebuke.” We 
 prefer the President’s choice. 
 
 Oh! how we all wished we were in Bill and 
 Nancy’s shoes; and as for them, they were so 
 extremely uppish over it, that it required the com¬ 
 bined weight of the whole family to flatten them, 
 but even then we did not succeed. They flirted 
 about, their heads in the air, more than ever re¬ 
 sembling a pair of canaries. We could only, up 
 to the last minute, beg, and implore, and entreat 
 them to behave themselves as well as it was in 
 their power to do, and not to bring disgrace 
 upon us. 
 
 Grandfather Sylvester did not feel strong enough 
 for the fatigue of another long day in town. It 
 takes us an hour and a half by train each way, 
 
Mr. Pippos Fortune. 
 
 211 
 
 and he was very tired after his other outing, even 
 though he had slept in London, and had only 
 the journey back. So mother alone took Vera, 
 Pat, Bill and Nan, and told us about it when she 
 came home. 
 
 It was a very hot day, and Pat went with them 
 in the same carriage. He had never travelled by 
 train before, and was in a state of the greatest 
 excitement. It was all so new to him, and he 
 could not understand it. He put his two big 
 paws upon the window-ledge, poked his red head 
 out as far as it would go, and made every one 
 uncomfortable, for they thought he might make 
 a spring, and that would have been terrible,— I 
 am afraid he must have been killed. No coaxing, 
 or entreaties would prevail upon him to lie still. 
 When he was not looking out of the window, he 
 was walking up and down, waving his bushy tail, 
 and wanting to be petted. 
 
 During the first part of the journey they had 
 the carriage to themselves, but afterwards there 
 
212 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 was a scarcity of room, and mother grew anxious. 
 Ladies drew back when they saw his red head at 
 the window, his mouth wide open showing his 
 beautiful teeth, and his long tongue hanging out, 
 for he was panting with the heat. 
 
 One lady said, 
 
 “I will not travel with that fierce animal,—he 
 is sure to bite.” 
 
 Bill and Nan were indignant. Bill said, 
 
 “ Fancy calling our dear Pat fierce .” 
 
 “ He has much kinder eyes than the lady’s,” 
 said Nan. 
 
 “ People are so silly,” said Bill. 
 
 At the next station several others passed along, 
 looking for seats, and one said, 
 
 “Oh, do not get into the carriage with that 
 creature!” 
 
 And another, 
 
 “ Dear me, that dog will go mad,—see how he is 
 panting. I shall avoid that carriage.” 
 
 And a third said, 
 
Mr. Pippo's Fortune. 
 
 213 
 
 “ Guard, dogs have no business in carriages,— 
 there is a dog-box on purpose for them. I shall 
 complain.” 
 
 Bill and Nan grew more indignant, mother more 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 Fortunately two gentlemen got in who did not 
 seem to mind Pat. They remarked upon his 
 beauty, patted him on the head, and Pat made 
 friends with them at once, for he is a very 
 sociable animal. 
 
 Mother said, “You really must make Pat lie 
 down,” and Bill and Nan coaxed, and begged, 
 and entreated, and said, “ Dear Pat, do lie down,” 
 but Pat only walked to and fro, and wagged his 
 tail harder,—they have no more control over him 
 than they have over our Alderney cow. 
 
 The two gentlemen came to their assistance, 
 and tried to squeeze Pat into a lying position by 
 pressing their hands upon his back. They suc¬ 
 ceeded after a while, but at every station where 
 the train stopped he was up again, his paws upon 
 
214 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 the window-ledge, his red, good-tempered face 
 peering at everything that was going on. Then 
 all the coaxing had to begin again, and mother 
 said she felt quite sorry for the gentlemen. 
 
 They were exceedingly kind, for at a station 
 where there were refreshment-rooms, one of them 
 got out and fetched Pat not only water, but three 
 sponge cakes. He enjoyed both cakes and water, 
 —indeed the latter was necessary, for he was hot 
 and thirsty. 
 
 In return for their kindness, mother told the 
 gentlemen Pat’s story,—that he had been painted 
 in a picture in the Royal Academy, that the Pre- 
 sident had bought it, and now he was on his way, 
 by special invitation, to luncheon at the Presi¬ 
 dent’s house. 
 
 They delighted Bill and Nan, who of course 
 said, “ He’s our dog,” by saying that they looked 
 upon Pat with immense respect, after hearing 
 that, and would much like to be in his place. 
 
 We have never tired of hearing of the beautiful 
 
Mr. Pippo's Fortune. 
 
 215 
 
 things they saw that day. They ate their lun¬ 
 cheon at a dining-table where the centre was a 
 miniature piece of water, with grasses and ferns 
 around it. How cool and refreshing it must look 
 upon a hot day,—one would enjoy one’s luncheon 
 then, instead of feeling, as we sometimes do if the 
 weather is very hot, that we wish such a meal had 
 never been invented. Every room in the house 
 was filled with beautiful things, it seems as if we 
 never came to an end of them, for they are al¬ 
 ways breaking out even now with,—“ Oh, I forgot 
 to tell you about so-and-so,” and then we hear of 
 something else most wonderful. It must have 
 been “ like fairy land,” as Phyllis and Sylvia say. 
 
 The President was much amused, mother said, 
 at the indignant account Bill and Nan gave of 
 Pat and his journey. He soothed their feelings, 
 and delighted them by saying that people must 
 have imagined the fierceness, for Pat’s expression 
 was most genial and pleasant. 
 
 The colour in the picture was not overdone,— 
 
216 
 
 Mother Bunch . 
 
 indeed, upon comparing Pat with his likeness, the 
 President thought he might have been painted 
 even brighter, though that was scarcely possible, 
 mother said. 
 
 The President was charmed with Vera,—she was 
 quite at her ease with him, as she is with every¬ 
 body, and he called her “ a quaintly grave maiden.” 
 He took her hand, and showed her all over the 
 house, pointing out anything he wanted her par¬ 
 ticularly to notice, and then waiting to hear if 
 she had a remark to make about it. Once they 
 came upon a lovely statuette of “ Peace,” who was 
 represented as an angel with folded wings. The 
 President said to Vera, 
 
 “ Do you know who that is, my child ?” 
 
 And she said at once, “ One of the beautiful 
 Angels God sends to take care of us.” 
 
 And the President did not speak for a minute, 
 then he only answered, “ Yes.” 
 
 If Isabel can spare her, she is to go and stay 
 a whole week with him some day, all by herself. 
 
Mr. Pippds Fortune. 
 
 217 
 
 Think, how nice for her! We have a different 
 feeling about Vera to that we have about Bill and 
 Nan. We have no fear for her, we know that 
 wherever she is she will do us credit. We wish 
 we could say the same of the twins. 
 
 Mother said that Mr. Pippo was an altered 
 being; he was radiant with happiness, and, in the 
 cab on his way to the station, he cried for joy, 
 and assured mother again and again that it was 
 all owing to us that he had succeeded. He was 
 so depressed at his past failures, and did not know 
 what subject to choose until he saw Vera; and 
 then our sympathy urged him to persevere, and 
 determined him not to be daunted, but to try his 
 hardest. 
 
 Mother assured him that we had little to do 
 with it, that he had within him the true artist 
 spirit which must have shown itself under any 
 difficulties. But he shook his head, and said, 
 
 “You do not know what loneliness is, nor what 
 miracles sympathy can work.” 
 
218 
 
 Mother Bunch. 
 
 Then mother said, she felt how he must have 
 suffered. 
 
 He took Vera in his arms at the station, to put 
 her into the carriage, and, as he kissed her, he said, 
 
 “ It is you who have made my fortune, Vera.” 
 
 But Bill and Nan were up from their seats in a 
 minute, 
 
 “ No, no, no,” they said, “ it is Pat who has made 
 your fortune.” 
 
 Then Vera said, 
 
 “Is your fortune good, Mr. Pippo ?” 
 
 Mr. Pippo answered, 
 
 “Yes, I hope so ,—very good, thanks to you, 
 little Vera.” 
 
 Then she said in her grave, sedate manner, 
 
 “ We are all glad, and God, and the angels too.” 
 
 Pat was thoroughly tired, and slept all the way 
 home, to mother’s great relief. Bill and Nan 
 were far from sleep, and talked both together, 
 when they saw us, until it was difficult to dis¬ 
 tinguish what was said. We made out a good 
 
Mr. Pippds Fortune. 
 
 219 
 
 deal, though they paid no attention to our re- 
 
 I 
 
 quest that they should speak in turns. 
 
 Vera, like Pat, was tired, and did not speak 
 much. Grandfather Sylvester took her in his arms 
 while the noise was at its height, and said, 
 
 “Well, Mother Bunch, Bill and Nancy say it is 
 Pat who has made Mr. Pippo’s fortune, and Mr. 
 Pippo says it is you. What do you think about 
 the matter ? Who is it ?” 
 
 We all stopped talking, and waited for the 
 answer. 
 
 Vera could hardly keep her eyes open. She put 
 her two arms round Grandfather Sylvester’s neck 
 and “loved” him sleepily; then she rested her 
 head upon his shoulder, and said in her pretty, 
 slow voice, 
 
 “ I think it is God, Grandfather Sylvester, be¬ 
 cause He is so very good.” 
 
 J. Masters and Co., Printers, Albion Buildings, Bartholomew Close. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
A LIST OF BOOKS 
 
 SUITABLE FOR 
 
 Uprmais, Xenbing libraries, anb 
 
 fjjool climbs 
 
 t 
 
 COMPRISING 
 
 TALES AND STORIES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE, 
 BIOGRAPHY, AND POETRY, 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 J. MASTERS & CO.,- 
 
 78, NEW BOND STREET, LONDON. 
 
SECOND EDITION. 
 
 Imperial l6mo., cloth, 5s. 
 
 With Portrait engraved on Steel by Stodart, 
 
 HAEEIET MONSELL. 
 
 A Memoir of the First Mother Superior of the House of 
 
 Mercy, Clewer. 
 
 By the BEY. T. T. CABTER, M.A., 
 
 Hon. Canon of Christ Church, Oxford, and Warden of the House 
 
 of Mercy, Clewer. 
 
 IN PREPARATION. 
 
 Mother Bunch. By Miss Stella Austin. 
 
 Golden Horseshoes. A Tale of Chivalry for 
 
 Young and Old. By Mrs. Mitchell. 
 
 What is Right comes Right. By F. M. Wilbra- 
 
 ham, author of “The Loyal Heart,” “Kings of Judah,” &c. 
 
 Molly Carew. An Autobiography. By A. M. W. 
 Little Ready Cry ; or the Sorrows of Six Years 
 
 Old. From the French of Madame Colomb. By C. A. Jones. 
 With many Illustrations. 
 
 Holidays at Brinnicombe. By K. D. Cornish, 
 
 author of “ Phoebe’s Pool.” 
 
 Little Captain Dick. By C. A. Jones, author of 
 
 “ Stories on the Catechism,” &e. 
 
September , 1884. 
 
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 By Mrs. MITCHELL. 
 
 Golden Hoeseshoes. A Tale of Chivalry for 
 
 Young-and Old. Illustrated by H. Petherick. Crown 8vo., 
 cloth. 
 
 The incidents in this story have reference to the stirring times of Edward III. 
 
 Hee Majesty’s Beae. A Tale of the time of Queen 
 
 Elizabeth. Illustrated by H. Petherick. Crown 8vo,, cloth, 
 
 5s. 
 
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 Noeton Hall. A Tale. Illustrated by C. O. 
 
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 altogether a fascinating book, which will be liked by all.”— Guardian. 
 
 The Little Blue Lady, and other Tales. Illus¬ 
 
 trated by C. O. Murray. Small 8vo., cloth, 4s. 6d. 
 
 “These stories are all interesting in their various ways, and are told well.” 
 —Saturday Reviciu. 
 
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 possessed of much dramatic force.”— Scotsman. 
 
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 Illustrated by C. O. Murray. Small 8vo., cloth, 4s. 6d. 
 
 “ Mrs. Mitchell has shown great dexterity in a very difficult work in her story 
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 Hatiieeleigh Ceoss. 18mo., cloth. Is. 
 
4 
 
 Published by J. Masters 8f Co., 
 
 ®ales for ISoys antr (3*trls, tottfj Illustrations, 
 
 By STELLA AUSTIN. 
 
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 Nearly ready. 
 
 Kenneth’s Children. Small 8vo., cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 “ Boys and girls will like the story of ‘ Kenneth’s Children,’ for it is expressly 
 told for them, and is a capital family tale.”— Daily Telegraph. 
 
 Other People. A Story of Modern Chivalry. 
 
 Small 8vo., cloth, 3s. (id. 
 
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 Great-Grandmother’s Shoes. Second edition. 
 
 Small 8vo., cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
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 appreciated by all children into whose hands it may fall. — Public Opinion. 
 
 Our Next Door Neighbour. Third edit. Small 
 
 8vo., cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 “ A perfectly delightful little book which every child ought to be enabled to 
 enjoy. It is thoroughly natural and childlike, and Miss Austin is to be con¬ 
 gratulated on her success throughout.”— Morning Post. 
 
 Pat. Third edition. Small 8vo., cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 “ A very delightful story. The boys and girls for whom it is intended will 
 find ‘ Pat’ a very welcome and attractive present.”— John Bull. 
 
 Ben Cramer: Working Jeweller. Second edit. 
 
 Small 8vo., cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 “It is not often that a pleasanter or better written story for children can be 
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 profit, and which cannot possibly do harm to anybody.”— The Scotsman. 
 
 Uncle Philip. Third edition. Small 8vo., cloth, 
 
 3s. 6d. 
 
 “Stella Austin writes for both boys and girls. Her ‘ Uncle Philip’ is a very 
 cheery tale, full of a healthy humour, and inculcating, without too directly 
 pointing, a most excellent moral.”— The Times. 
 
 For Old Sake’s Sake. Third edition. Small 8vo., 
 
 cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 “Another pretty and natural story by the pleasant author of ‘Rags and 
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 of her craft, and knows how to blend the touching and pathetic with the hu¬ 
 morous and the graphic.”— English Churchman. 
 
78 , New Bond Street. 
 
 5 
 
 Rags and Tatters. Sixth edit. Small 8vo„ cl. 3s. 
 
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 Stumps. Sixth edition. 16mo., cloth, 2s. 6d. 
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 By FLORENCE WILFORD. 
 
 Short Stories for Mothers’ Meetings. Fcap. 
 
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 A Vantage Ground, and other Tales. Crown 8vo., 
 
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 A 2 
 
6 
 
 Published by J. Masters 8f Co., 
 
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 Theodora Phranza; or, the Fall of Constantinople. 
 
 Second edition. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
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78 , New Bond Street 
 
 7 
 
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8 
 
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 9 
 
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 f 
 
10 
 
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 11 
 
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12 
 
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 readerq S !^ y S °° d and des , erve s a largely extended circle of 
 
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 t a i n e d™hr o u^ho u t .^-Jjoh J'buU. ° f n ° tiCe that the hi S h level is maia - 
 
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 Abbey Lands. 
 
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 ih'oighTs gracefully written, and rich in true and^oble 
 
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 freshness that would make the reputation of a bigger book .”—Public Opinion. 
 
78, New Bond Street. 
 
 13 
 
 The Apple Blossom ; or, a Mother’s Legacy. By 
 
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 Adventures of Olaf Tryggveson, King of 
 
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 l8mo. is. 
 
 Book of Church History, founded on the Rev. 
 
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 A 3 
 
14 
 
 Published by J. Masters 8f Co., 
 
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 Christmas Present for Children. From the 
 
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78, New Bond Street. 
 
 15 
 
 Classical Tales and Legends. By the Rev. 
 
 W. B. Flower. l8mo. 2s.; cheap edition, Is. 
 
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 author of “God’s Acre,” “The Art of Needlework,” &c. 
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 Esther Merle, and other Tales. By Mrs. F. Vidal, 
 
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 CONTENTS:—John Salter; or, the Inconsiderate Marriage.—Three Neigh¬ 
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 Southampton. 
 
16 
 
 Published by J. Masters ^ Co., 
 
 Fontnell S. Chad. A Reminiscence. Crown 8vo., 
 
 cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Flowers and Fruit. For Little Children. 32mo. 
 
 cloth, Is. 
 
 Gentle Influence; or. The Cousin’s Visit. By 
 
 Miss F. M. Levett. Second edition. 18mo. Is. 
 
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 Going Home. A Story. By F. G. W. Second 
 
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 Higher Claims; or, Catherine Lewis the Sunday 
 
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 Sets forth the great advantage that would accrue to the Church if the young 
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 Hilary S. Magna; or, The Nearest Duty First. A 
 
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 By the Author of ‘‘Chronicles of S. Mary’s.” Second 
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78, New Bond Street, 
 
 17 
 
 The Holy Church throughout all the World. 
 
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 Hubert Neville. A Tale. By the Author of 
 
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 I VO and Verena; or, the Snowdrop. By the Au¬ 
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 A tale of the conversion, life, and influence of an early convert to the Chris¬ 
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 Ivon. By the Author of “ Aunt Agnes,” and “ Is he 
 
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 Kingsworth ; or, the Aim of a Life. By C. R. 
 
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 Lessons for Little Children from the His¬ 
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 A Life’s Search. By E. S. B. Sydney. Fcap. 8vo., 
 
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 "It often happens to us to be asked to name some good popular book set¬ 
 ting forth the dangers of tampering with religious doubt. It very seldom hap¬ 
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 the more rejoiced at meeting with a really powerfully written book like * A 
 Life’s Search .’”—Literary Churchman. 
 
18 
 
 Published by J. Masters Sf Co., 
 
 The Little Comforters, and other Tales. 32 mo., 
 
 cloth, is. 
 
 The Little Messmates. By the Rev. Frederick 
 
 W. Mant, author of “The Midshipman; or, Twelve Years 
 Ago.” 18mo.,4d. 
 
 Little Mabel. A True Story. By the Author of 
 “ The Birthday Wreath.” 18mo., 6d.; cloth, 9d. 
 
 Loving Service; or, a Sister’s Influence. By Eliza 
 
 A. Bayliss. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 Local Legends. By the Author of “ Cecil Dean,” 
 
 &c. l6mo., cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 CONTENTS: —The Legend of the Founder’s Dreams. — A Legend of S. Os¬ 
 mund s Priory.—The Barons’ Tryst. A Legend of the “ Roses.”—The Last 
 Cantilupe. A Legend of Queenhope Manor.—Furzy Fallow; or, the Legend 
 of Old Court.—Irene. A Legend of Sunshine.—Miss Mildred’s Picnic; or, the 
 Legend of the Lake. 
 
 I he Loyal Heart, and other Tales for Boys. 
 
 Translated from the German. By Frances M. Wilbraham. 
 With Engravings. Second edition. 18mo., 2s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 The Loyal Heart—The Golden Locket—The Blind Boy; or, Trust in Provi¬ 
 dence—The Young Robinson Crusoe—“Thou shalt not Steal”—A Tale of 
 S. Domingo. 
 
 Lucy and Christian Wainwright, and other 
 
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 Wynnes,” &c. Fcap. 8vo., cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 The Maiden Aunt’s Tales. By S. M., author of 
 
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 “The moral of the whole is the happy influence of such a frame of mind, 
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 into contact.”— John Bull. 
 
 Mary and Mildred. A Tale for Girls. Edited by 
 
 the Rev. Stair Douglas. Second edition, 18mo., cloth, 2s. 
 
 Showing in the life and friendship of two girls the error Of acting on impulse 
 without the aid of strict Christian principle. 
 
 The Meeting in the Wilderness. An Imagi¬ 
 nation, wherein Divine Love is set forth. By the Author of 
 “ The Divine Master.” Is. 
 
 Memoirs of an Arm-Chair. Written by himself. 
 
 Edited by the Author of “ Margaret Stourton,” “The Missing 
 Sovereign,” &c. Square l6mo. is. 
 
78, New Bond Street. 
 
 19 
 
 Mercy Downer; or, Church and Chapel. 12mo., 
 
 wrapper, 6d.; cloth, is. 
 
 “We can recommend this as the very best story book for a parish or ser¬ 
 vant’s hail library that we have met with.”— Literary Churchman. 
 
 “A grotesquely real sketch of Dissent and its frequent causes.”— Monthly 
 Packet. 
 
 Minnie’s Birthday, and other Stories for Children. 
 
 By Marietta. With four Illustrations by Cuthbert Bede. 
 Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 
 
 Midsummer Holidays at Princes Green. By 
 
 Mrs. Eccles, author of “ The Riches of Poverty.” 18mo. is. 
 A Tale on the duties of young children to their aged relatives. 
 
 My Birthday Eye. A Waking Dream. With or¬ 
 namental borders, is. 6d. 
 
 Molly Carew. An Autobiography. ' By A. M. W. 
 
 With four Illustrations by H. Petherick. Small 8vo. 
 
 My Little Patient. A Tale of Hospital Life. 
 
 Second Edition. l8mo., 6d. 
 
 Neddie’s Care; or, “Suffer the Little Children.” 
 
 With eight Illustrations. l6mo., cloth, is. 
 
 The Noble Army of Martyrs. By the Bev. S. 
 
 Fox. 18mo., cloth, Is. 
 
 Containing short Lives of S. Stephen; S. James; S. Barnabas; S. Timothy; 
 S. Polycarp; S. Ignatius; S. Clement; S. Irenaeus; S. Dionysius; S. Justin 
 Martyr. Suited for a class-reading book. 
 
 “Just the book for circulation among children or a Parochial Lending Li¬ 
 brary : what we want in the Upper Classes of our National Schools.”— English 
 Review. 
 
 Northwode Priory. A Tale, in Two Vols. By the 
 
 Author of “ Everley.” Fcap. 8vo. 10s. 6d. 
 
 A Noble Aim. By Annie Thomas (Mrs. Pender 
 
 Cudlip.) Published for the Benefit of the Devon House of 
 Mercy. Fcap. 8vo., Is. 
 
 “Extremely well told, by a writer at once graceful and refined.”— Union 
 Review. 
 
 Old Betty; a Sketch from Real Life. 18mo., 
 
 cloth, is. 
 
 One Story by Two Authors ; or, a Tale without 
 
 a Moral. By J. I., author of “ A Rhyming Chronicle,” and 
 F. M. L., author of ‘‘Gentle Influence,” &c. Fcap. 8vo. 
 3s.6d. 
 
 “ Has the great merit of being original in the ideas it contains and the man¬ 
 ner in which it is treated.”— Clerical Journal. 
 
20 
 
 Published by J. Masters fy Co., 
 
 The Old Court House. A Tale. 18mo. Is. 
 Parish Tales. Reprinted from the “Tales of a 
 
 London Parish.” In a packet, Is. 6d. 
 
 Contents: —Denis the Beggar Boy; The Old Street Sweeper; Honor 
 O’Keefe ; There’s a Skeleton in every House; Christian Flower's Story ; My 
 Catechumens; The Hill-side Cottage. 
 
 Pearls Re-strung. Stories from the Apocrypha. 
 
 By Mrs. H. S. Mackarness, author of “ A Trap to Catch a Sun¬ 
 beam,” &c. l6mo., cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Phcebe’s Pool. A Story for Children. By Katharine 
 
 D. Cornish. With Illustrations. l6mo., cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 “A delightful children’s story. Phoebe’s Pool with its background of red 
 cliff and bushes, interspersed with ragged robins and wild hyacinths, is a 
 charming bit of scenery. With ‘ Puss in Boots’ of the story we seem ourselves 
 to have fished in it.”— Academy. 
 
 Rainbow Light. Seven Stories by A. E. M., 
 
 author of “ Sundays at Kingsmuir.” 18mo., cloth, Is. 6d. 
 
 Rainy Mornings with Aunt Mabel. 18 mo., 
 
 cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 An endeavour to inculcate in familiar and easy conversations a knowledge 
 of the early Christian Church, its struggles and triumphs, including the Cata¬ 
 combs, and early missions. 
 
 “ Read me a Story.” Stories for reading aloud to 
 
 little children. By the Author of “The Conceited Pig.” Fifth 
 edition, with three additional Stories. ISmo., cloth, Is. 6d. 
 
 Robert and Ellen. 18 mo., cloth, Is. 
 
 “ A tale told with more than average power. It is much beyond the common 
 range of stories for parish libraries.”— Guardian. 
 
 The Root of the Matter ; or the Village Class. 
 
 Is.; cloth, Is. 6d. 
 
 Ruth Levison; or Working and Waiting. Is. 
 Savonarola, Scenes in the Life of. By C. M. P. 
 
 18mo., cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Scenes of Suburban Life. By Anna B. F. Leigh 
 
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22 
 
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24 
 
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A. 
 
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26 
 
 Published by J. Masters 8f Co ., 
 
 HYMNS AND POEMS FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 By Mrs. C. F. ALEXANDER. 
 
 SIXTY-THIRD EDITION. 
 
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28 
 
 Published by J. Masters ^ Co., 
 
 POETRY. 
 
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78, New Bond Street. 
 
 29 
 
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 By the 
 
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 Rev. J. F. Russell. Fcap. 8vo. is. 6d. 
 
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 Lays of the Hebrews, and other Poems. By 
 
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 CONTENTS :-To the Memory of \V. Archer Butler; The Tomb of Swift; 
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30 
 
 Published by J. Masters &f Co., 
 
 Medieval Hymns, Sequences, and other Poems, 
 
 translated by the Rev. J. M. Neale. Second Edition. 2s. 
 
 The Nun of Enzklosterle ; a Legend of the 
 
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 Tales of the Village Children. 1st Series. By 
 
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78 , New Bond Street . 
 
 31 
 
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 JUVENILE ENGLISHMAN’S HISTORICAL 
 
 LIBRARY. 
 
 Edited, by the Rev. J. F. Russell, B.C.L. 
 
 English History for Children. By the Rev. 
 
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32 
 
 Published by J. Masters Co., 
 
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 Annandale; or, the Danger of Self-Confidence. A 
 
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 A Few Prayers and a Few Words about Prayer. 
 
 By the Rev. F. E. Paget. 
 
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 I am so Happy ; or, the Reward of Sorrow borne 
 
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 Lucy Ford; or, Hearing the Story of a Pilgrimage 
 
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78 , New Bond Street. 
 
 33 
 
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 Story of a Promise that was Kept. 
 
 Story of a Primrose; wherein is shown the Result 
 
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 Tale of a Tortoise, with its Adventures; and 
 
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